In Which The Avengers Pull Out Shipping Receipts
by merethengilith
Summary: Sequel to An Agent and an Assassin & IWFCSPA: The Earth's Mightiest heroes certainly prided themselves on many things. Their skills, their compassion, their astounding Cards Against Humanity nights. But above all else, it was probably their OTP shipping skills. After all, someone's gotta stop Barnes from brooding 24/7. And preferably not at inopportune times. (Multiple AUs)
1. Act 1

A/N: Hello to any new readers and a very big welcome to any of my old ones.

I know I don't really update anymore, but I felt like putting this one out there while I keep revising IWFCSPA. This fic was written for fangirltothe-end as both a birthday present and kind of a culmination of all these ridiculous scenarios we'd come up with while I was finishing the last few chapters of 'An Agent and an Assassin'.

If you haven't read that, the link to it is in my profile and I highly recommend reading both that and my now ammended version of In Which Fury Chooses Stark's PA's as this kinda falls in between the two pieces, and I do reference the two works A LOT. Either way I hope you enjoy it, it was an absolute romp to write and tbh if I hadn't spent all my time writing this I'd have probably gotten a better ATAR lmao.

In terms of ratings, Part 5 does have like some steamy stuff, but you can skip past it to the fluff. I've just got it rated M because I'd rather be on the safe side of things.

Feel free to follow me on Tumblr (mischief-and-maryment) and to follow my sideblog with reader x character fics (if-weshadows-haveoffended). I also have an AO3 (merethengilith), but I've abandoned my Hobbit fics there in the meanwhile.

Disclaimer: Do we still do this in the year of our lord 2017? I don't own anyone or profit from any of the MCU, if I did, I wouldn't have had to apply for HECS.

* * *

Act 1- Chocolate Bon Bons

There were several reasons as to why Bucky refused to live with them in Avengers Tower.

First of all, why would he move to a location where the inhabitants were soon to move out? Stark had once described the tower as a bachelor pad, but with most undertaking the cohabitation and production of offspring thing, it wasn't such anymore. Avengers mansion, Stark had also mentioned, was designed without children or younger members becoming the Avengers in mind and needed to be repurposed. Which led to his second reason:

He hated the Compound. Everything about it from its layout to the cold architecture to the fact it was too far away from Brooklyn. Mary had helped him pick out an apartment and he decided it was probably for the best that he painfully refused to ask her to move in with him despite the fact he would do anything to keep her close to his side.

But the third and most pressing reason as to why he refused to live with them were the nightmares. The triggers were gone, okay, but the pain wasn't. Usually they were about the killings or the torture but after that unwilling trip into her mind, there was one that he never mentioned to her and hardly dared to bring it up with himself. And he saw it again tonight.

It started as it always did, somewhere after Triskelion, however the dreamed seemed to follow the reality the gem presented in which she had been kidnapped just before starting university. In that reality it also seemed her elder sister never existed and that her parents had stayed together in the early 90s as opposed to breaking up and meeting each other years later once again to marry, thus, leaving her four years older than she was in his own world. He assumed that she'd helped him escape or perhaps he'd assisted her, but there he was once again, half-carrying half-dragging her through the rainy streets of Bucharest, city lights reflecting off black puddles of water upon the pavement. Her lips quivered as the black night sky unleashed unrelenting rain and in her thin cardigan, he knew she would not survive much longer but her fingers kept moving on the wet and slippery glass of the smart phone, muttering that they were nearly there.

They rounded the corner of a block she'd pointed to and he entered the apartment block, climbing the treacherous stairs to the fifth floor, always feeling real no matter the fact he'd relived this dream dozens of times over, and that he'd already observed the garish wallpaper of the corridor and known that the floorboards were too squeaky for his liking. He knew that the third apartment from the stairwell had a pram outside the door and that he would inevitably bump into the wall with his left shoulder in order to have Mary avoid it.

"Twelve C," Mary, wiping away damp hair from her head and her lips turning pale, managed in the barest of a whisper. He was frantically pounding on the door as she collapsed in his arms, he retracted his metal arm from the door and held her as tight as he could, hoping that she as alive.

The door was wrenched open by a confused Clint Barton, behind him Thor sipping on a coffee and leaning against a table; Tony Stark. The murderous glare in Stark's eyes were enough of a warning to tell Bucky that Tony knew of the nature of his parent's deaths.

"Please," His voice was breaking "It's her-

"Fuck, she's slipping into hypothermia. Thor I need you to heat up that soup again," Clint shut the door behind them as he tried to prise Mary from Bucky's grip, but Bucky never let her go. Not ever in any of the times he'd had this dream. Thor disappeared from sight, running into the kitchen briefly before crossing the small sitting room into another room. "Tony, you can use a dryer, right?"

"Barton-" Tony seemed hesitant, his anger fading the moment he noticed her form, still awake, eyes blinking in the glowing light of the room and her breathing slow and shallow.

" _Tony_ you asshole!" Clint shouted over the top of his half-formed protest. "If she dies on us, it's on you. I need you to heat up as many heavy blankets as you can, put it on the quickest tumble dry setting," Tony took one more look at her before entering the room Thor had previously entered and retrieved clothes before entering the kitchen where Bucky knew from the previous dreams, held a washing machine and dryer. Bucky carried her over to the sofa as Thor re-entered with a mound of warm and dry clothing.

"Dress her," Clint informed him "We'll get food, just keep her talking, okay? If she goes severe, we're going to have to take her to a hospital and we can't afford that with you." Bucky nodded and began to peel away thin layers of a cardigan and a summery dress from her cold form, pressing small kisses to her collarbone and shoulder. Her eyes seemed unfocused but she answered his questions well enough. He'd always ask her about what she could sense, and she would ramble about Tony's internal conflict, Thor's genuine concern and Clint's desire to be with his family. She seemed a little better in a couple of Clint's jumpers, track pants borrowed from Tony and some fuzzy socks Thor had found.

With angry, trembling hands, Tony handed over a large bowl of soup while Clint held out a bowl filled with various candies. They all urged her to eat while Thor wrapped the warmed blankets around her with a reassuring clap on the shoulder, some colour returning to her lips.

Bucky, still kneeling before her, pressed a small kiss to her forehead before stepping away to face the three Avengers, experience telling him he knew what he was in for a long haul.

"Why did you run?" Thor asked first, arms crossed but with a kinder expression than the others.

"I was going to come back, we'd planned to go back." Bucky answered, the memory non-existent for him but the words escaped his mouth nonetheless. "But you all signed the New York Accords and Steve would have broken the peace." This never happened, Bucky knew that there were talks of Accords after New York and after Sokovia, but they were never signed.

"So what, this is all selfless?" Tony spat cynically.

"I don't care what you do to me, I know I wasn't really doing it. But I still did it, and I remember all of it and it keeps me up at night and I as much as I will atone for everything I've done, I'll never properly make up for it." Bucky addressed Tony directly, making eye contact but he could see Tony twitching, looking for an exit as he remained torn between forgiving him and killing him. "But it's her, she- We changed plans-"

"Who is she, Hydra didn't… I've never seen her in Hydra files." Clint looked at her, calmly sipping on a bowl of soup and extending a cold finger out of her mountain of blankets to the chocolate bowl, looking for something.

"She was kept off-record, Hydra's high command didn't know about her," Bucky explained "It's just… they found out." Bucky began to explain, exasperated and tired, only awake for her.

"What?" Thor inquired, rubbing his neck out of nerves.

"2012, St Petersburg, they dragged us out of the hotel after we'd tried to escape and they beat her up," He elaborated, taking a seat on one of the unoccupied dining chairs, staring up at the three men.

"Just her?" Stark asked with his arms crossed. Bucky new Stark well enough, behind the tough, antagonist exterior he was worried for her. Whether it be in his familiar world as an odd uncle sort of figure, or whether it be in this dream world watching a strange woman half-dead upon the tattered sofa.

"They thought she planned it and manipulated my emotions into helping her escape. I planned it because we found out she was pregnant. They found out that she miscarried just after I- after SHIELD fell." The pain felt so real even though he knew it wasn't, but this dream gave him a memory of a scared woman, battered and bruised and screaming and sobbing her throat hoarse short strands of hair stuck to her damp cheeks, lying in a pool of blood not from wounds but from something else far more sinister.

"Oh god," Clint Barton began to put the pieces together.

"They could've used the baby as a bargaining chip for our compliance, or they would have killed us for ever being romantically involved. We're running now because Hydra's plan was the first, and she's due in three months,"

"Could everyone just _shut up_ , I can't think." Mary would hiss, clutching her throbbing head in her hands with a slight grimace. "The collective angst and guilt in here requires innumerable therapy sessions."

"Oh she _talks_ ," Tony muttered bitterly.

"Fuck off." Mary stood up on trembling legs, searching for paper and pencils upon the cluttered desk. Sitting upon the dusty floor, she pointed and flexed her toes in her old ballerina habits, scribbling numbers and words and floor schematics upon the paper.

"You won't believe us, fine, leave us." She said in such a quiet, resigned tone that it never failed to take him aback every single time he would have this dream. "But let me explain first, we can help you. We- _I_ know that the UN or in particular General Ross has your balls on a very short leash-"

"Nice wording," Clint conceded with a gentle shake of his head, sitting on the floor with her. Bucky for some absurd reason, would always remain upon the sofa, a quiet presence as she rambled about everything she could, recounting Hydra locations and names of officers and secret projects.

"All you'd have to do is present all of this information," Mary explained in a short breath, "You'd have the upper hand… leverage…"

"Leverage." Tony huffed, "Why are you even helping us?"

"You don't think I want revenge? They killed my classmates and my teachers on the bus home from school. They tortured my parents. They nearly killed me. And you don't think I'm capable of being terrible?"

"Who got you out?" Clint fired his question, cutting off the angry, monotonous tone of the young woman.

"Helmut Zemo. Sokovian intelligence." Bucky never failed to be shocked at the second his name was uttered. "He was undercover for a month in Hydra trying to take it down, I implanted some of my memories. We managed to save his family and get political asylum in Australia. If we're lucky the Australian government can't find us, but luck is the biggest thing we lack."

"I can't believe this…" Tony muttered in slight anger.

"Yeah sure, Barnes. But think about it, years of Hydra information, a lie detector with 100% accuracy, a brainwashing machine. You'd have that. " Mary began once again in her fast-paced thinking way.

"I'm your bargaining chip-"

"No," Bucky would begin to protest.

"Then you could play the right cards, you'd get not only me, but Barnes and freedom in the bargain. That's all you'd have to do. It's that easy." She finished.

"And if it doesn't work?" Clint answered heavily, serious and tired.

Her hand wandered to her swollen abdomen, gently massaging. "I'll be alive for three more months, they wouldn't kill us both, you know, I think it's a girl."

It was always at that point that he would wake up, sweating and strangling a pillow to muffle his sobs.


	2. Act 2

A/N: This work is complete, so I won't really be commenting, dw. If you aren't familiar with my works (read them if you like), I kinda just go with STUDIOS DON'T EXIST ITS A MULTIVERSE. And for this fic's purposes, I used Tom Holland's Spiderman

* * *

Act 2- In Which Emma Pulls out the Shipping Receipts

 _Two Weeks before the Road Trip_

"Triggers, we're gonna get rid of them, we had most of it sorted when Lord and Saviour King T'Challa sent over Vibranium for your new arm and we inserted some new implants into your head." Tony started, watching Barnes from the corner of his eye. From what he'd figured, Manchurian Candidate over there wasn't the most talkative, but he'd give quiet, almost resigned stares to people in the room. Steve got the most words out of him, usually a couple of laughs. He seemed to get along with Banner and Romanoff. He was just confused by Thor and Loki (well, he was just annoyed he couldn't pick up Mjolnir. Tony was honestly surprised. Maybe Mjolnir was just having an off-day, we all had those.)

"Why are you doing this when Steve's not here?" Bucky asked in genuine curiosity, Tony found it hard to hide the veiled anger he held towards him. It was getting better now.

"He-" Agent Reyes began, sliding off the bench she'd been sitting upon after she'd helped Barnes get into the reinforced seat, before hesitating in giving her answer that she must've deduced in a single glance at him.

"I wanted to prove something to him, to all of them. I know you killed them, and it _hurts_ but after a lot of drinking, a lot of stuff smashed, a PA kicking my ass back into bed, and a lot of thinking, I've decided –Red Peril- that it's not your fault. You don't deserve that, you're a victim, and I'm an idiot for not realising." Tony finished his little speech off with a huff, finally glad to get everything off his chest. It still hurt him, to know that he held the power of life and death over than man who killed his parents, but what hurt him more was knowing that he pitied the man more than he was angry with him. Well, he may have been angry at first, but then he and Bruce saw the decades of damage; Dr Helen Cho with tears in her eyes pointing out damage caused by years of brainwashing to the lobes of his brain, the stress and damage on his nerves, the scars and tissues that never truly healed.

The final straw for him was when he realised that every movement with the prosthesis hurt him. No human would willingly go through that much pain for a single appendage. Tony motioned for Reyes to help him, placing some electrode pads to major nerve centres, Reyes gave a small nod, indicating everyone was at the calmest they could be. And yet with all the pain of the prosthesis, he touched Reyes with an unimaginable gentleness.

"Mr Stark-"

"Just call me Tony, kiddo." Tony corrected with a smile, proud of how far she'd come in her studies and as a person. "You've probably done more effective work for me overall in comparison to Holmes."

"Really?" She asked shyly, not ready to believe anything he said. His heart broke just a little for her.

"Yeah, between you and me Reyes; Holmes is brilliant, but my _god_ her arrogance is terrible when she thinks she's right. It's gonna get her and everyone else killed, and that's something coming from me. Do us all a favour and stay the way you are, cool?"

"Alright, Mr Stark- sorry, Tony." She nodded, tucking hair behind her ear. "I'm worried about how this is going to work," She confided as they stepped back behind the bench "All you're going to do is raise neurochemical levels a little, right?"

"Not too much, just enough to see how he reacts to stimuli. I just hope it works."

"Same," She agreed, holding a pen aloft, ready to take notes. After all that had happened with SHIELD and Hydra, Tony wasn't about to be keeping digital files on this.

"Okay, you ready for this?" Tony addressed Barnes. Barnes looked resigned, but gave a small nod, ready for it to be over.

The first initial tests went well as Bucky responded to previously triggering stimuli, by replacing the triggers with subconscious memories the same way Hydra had implanted them in the first way, it was probably the best non-invasive method they had.

"Oh shit," Reyes' whispered curse alerted him to the silent tears coming down his face "Tony, stop it."

"Got it." Tony flicked off the switch and they both ran over to him, tearing off the impulse patches with expertly-trained hands, electrode pads tossed to the floor as she loosened the restraints Barnes insisted they add. In an instant he was sliding off the chair, willing to run away. Tony wasn't sure why, but he couldn't hold him back, the soldier escaping his grip.

"Bucky, I need you to calm down for a moment, just breathe," Reyes was steady in her tone, eyes meeting his, unflinching as she held him back, her heeled feet digging into the floor a little.

" _God_ I killed them." Tony was surprised that 5 foot 5 and skinny as heck could even hold him back, nails digging into his shoulders, knees sagging from the weight.

"I know you feel guilty and I know you remember it all, believe me. But I need you to calm down, okay?" She eased him back into the seat, her eyes never wavering from the pale blue of his.

"But I killed them." The finality of the statement was what got through to Tony. He never forgot every victim, he never forgave himself for every victim and he was never going to excuse himself.

"Yes and beating yourself up isn't going to make anything better. If you want to atone for all that, even if we don't feel you have to, you can't fucking well do it dead, can you?" she glared, her brutal tone surprising the ex-assassin as she eased him back into the seat. "Yeah, big surprise, cute and bubbly knows how to handle people twice her size."

"No- it's not that it's-" Bucky began to explain, regretting the look of surprise he'd given her.

"The first time someone's treated you like you aren't some fragile piece of scientific equipment?" She probed, Tony was impressed as to how her empath abilities were coming along, definite emotions seemed to be standing out to her now, but Bruce seemed to be more on top of the monitoring than he. "I'd go for a Leibig condenser, I'm fond of those." She clapped his fleshed shoulder gently, handing him a stress ball and several of the impulse patches.

"One more time, doll, what exactly is it you're going to do?" He asked weakly, hesitating to meet her eye.

"The electrical impulses have been calibrated –they won't hurt, bit of a tingle- but they'll help to solidify the coding Stark and Banner have done on your new neural implant. Stark should be able to reverse quite a bit of Hydra's triggering mechanism," Tony nodded, intrigued by the natural ease she seemed to be able to put him in, but it didn't seem right, like she wasn't intending to- like all she wanted to do was to merely explain the situation. Tony made a mental note to write that in her increasing list of talents.

"Alright," Barnes nodded as Tony assisted him in placing the patches back on. Tony watched as Reyes wandered over to the other side of the room, her eyebrows knitted together, searching through Hydra paraphernalia for something she'd seen.

" _Don't_ , please." Barnes begged as Reyes held a journal open to a certain page. "They were the triggers-"

"Oh. I take it they're only mentioned here, once? It's for referral?" Tony saw her mind running at Pietro Maximoff speeds, calculating secrets and lies in a way he wished she wasn't adept at for someone so young, innocent and forced out of her naïveté. He almost hated Holmes for dragging her back here, she had a future. After all he and Holmes had managed to uncover it almost wasn't worth it.

That damage Barnes faced, well, it could have easily been avoided and _repaired_ if Reyes' fledgling abilities had been cultivated and used by Hydra. Holmes had guessed that within a week of discovering that Reyes' sister was dead and the true nature of her powers, it only took another week of breaking into SHIELD and Hydra files to confirm it. And Holmes had cried, she'd raged and threw the paper files across the room, angry at herself and SHIELD for allowing it to happen. Holmes kept muttering over and over that they should've realised she was a mutant sooner, they could've averted such larger crises. Emma Holmes, a woman Tony had ever seen lose control over her happier emotions, was a being of pure terror, commanding SHIELD at a tone an octave lower and in a manner infinitely more dangerous. It was almost as if she wanted Reyes to fail the upcoming mission she'd orchestrated, just so she had an excuse to keep in Australia, keep her home, keep her and Barnes away and safe.

Xavier and Lensherr had called and informed them that Reyes must be pulled out of College. Too many Hydra agents were intrigued by her apparent abilities, her potential as the weapon they'd let slip out of their fingers nearly twenty years before, they'd already had to stop too many threats.

And it tortured him more than he'd expected, she'd applied for the Pepper Potts scholarship and he was a signature away from granting it, she deserved it. Her research was brilliant in both artistic and scientific fields were unparalleled. Her involvement in College societies were in-depth, her starring role in _Much Ado About Nothing_ was praise-worthy.

So it terrified him more than it awed him, to see this woman with a future so bright that it blinded many, knowing that it was more like a supernova, burning white hot and fading in an instant the moment she uncovered the truth.

With rapid motions, her hand tore at the paper, prising it from the thread bindings, whipping out an unused lighter from her purse, and setting the pages on fire; her eyes refusing to read the trigger words or to acknowledge their existence. Her hands dropped the paper onto a steel tray as the flames began to climb higher and lick at her finger tips, the flames magnified by the metal, glinting in her clear eyes.

He hated to see the day they become cloudy with tears.

And in a single glance at the utterly stunned soldier, he realised that from this moment Barnes would do everything super-humanely possible to prevent that.

* * *

 ** _The Present Day_**

"…And so we have to ensure that we are not compromised in any way whatsoever during this mission, it would be disastrous if we were to be discovered." Bucky rolled his eyes, yeah that stupid punk could say that as much as he wanted, but seventy years of experience told him that Steven Grant Rogers was going to be the bastard that fucks up this mission. Who even let him near a whiteboard? Was he aware he was rocking the professor aesthetic today? Probably not, Sharon probably dressed him.

 _Shit Barnes, act casual._

Mary turned in her seat to face him, raising a brow as she began to tie her hair into a pony tail, doing his best to ignore the elegant line of her arms as they were raised above her head, crop-top pulling just a little, swan-like bending of her neck as she played with her hair.

"Captain Rogers, sir?" Clint Barton raised his hand while Natasha Romanoff rolled her eyes harder than he had seconds previously. Emma began to silently argue with Tony, practically slapping his face with a wad of hundred dollar bills.

"Yes Barton?"

"Are we going to get Barnes and Reyes to pretend to be married again?"

"No, next question."

"Are we going to get Barnes and Reyes to pretend to be taking their four year-old on a holiday to Disneyland?" Barton tried. Barnes wanted to slide further down into his seat, yes, he kind of liked that nerd, did they really need to keep bringing this up? Mary was staring at her pad as if they were the most fascinating thing she had ever read. He began to fiddle with the pen in his hands, not-so-casually checking her out, pale green lace of her bra strap _just_ visible under the sheer top.

"I am aware that the Australia mission is easily one of the most successful missions we have staged-"

"Not at all thanks to me." Tony piped up.

"-However, this is not applicable in this particular situation."

Mary turned back to him, pen between her even teeth as she continued to tie up her hair, Emma distracting her with idle talk as she tried to wind a hair-tie around her hair.

Truth be told, he was getting bored, even his mechanic fingers tapping against the glass table were getting bored. He was 90% sure that Wanda Maximoff was actually playing _Temple Run_ on her pad.

Well, if Barton was so insistent that he and Reyes were a couple, maybe he should just…

Stir the pot a little…

After all, she could sense everything, _surely_ she could sense that it was simply too tempting to inch her lithe frame into his lap, to push silken tresses out of the way of her bare neck and press-

Reyes was steadily turning pink, hurriedly finishing with her hair and crossing her legs.

Speaking _of_ legs, he could always grab her ankle and drag her towards him, have her straddle his hips as he pressed warm kisses against the soft skin beneath her ear-

"Agent Reyes, are you alright?" Mary nodded emphatically, taking a sip of water. Romanoff still remained sceptical.

"I-it's a little b-bit warm, isn't it?" Mary managed to stutter out, looking absolutely petrified. Bucky repressed a laugh.

"Shouldn't have gone outside without a coat on." Emma scolded lightly, pressing a hand to her forehead.

Warm, huh? Well, he was sure he could find a way to help take her mind off the heat, it would of course involve the removal of several layers of clothing and joining them on the coolness of marble tiles-

"I think I'm going to go back to my room…" she squeaked, collecting her things in a rush, profusely apologising to all in the room before hastily stepping out of the door.

"It's such a shame," Tony began, taking a long sip from his coffee "Reyes had the coolest mission report ready from last time. Like it was some Inception bullshit."

"Yes, that's a very apt way to describe her abilities, Stark, it's not as if she were a mutant or anything-" Loki began to snipe.

"Hey! Seven-odd years at Harvard, I get to say those kinda things. You get yourself how many diplomas and _then_ we can talk. Yeah Holmes?"

"Should I be worried for her? She usually doesn't get sick… I-I should go and check on her-" Emma was half-out of her seat before Bucky insisted that he take over, collecting his bag and waving himself out the door with his usual reserved and somewhat angry manner.

"I would recommend no one disturb them for the rest of the day." Emma took a sip of her tea and grinning as Barnes took the bait, calmly taking note on some spare paper, adding to her growing list.

"Pray, explain?"

"You see, my dear brother-in-law, we are experiencing a phenomenon known as pent-up sexual tension." She commented lightly "Look, the OTP is going to be canon sometime soon if they already aren't, but my problem is if the poor girl's gotten over her hesitance and the fact he's practically blaring _Uptown Girl_ around her-"

"Do you not think that you're speeding the process too quickly?" Her husband turned to her, breaking his silence after finally managing to get Val to fall asleep and handing her over to her eager uncle Thor. "Though I do quite agree, _Uptown Girl_ quite suits their relationship given his insecurity about his past and present financial security in comparison to her private education and privileged university statuses-

"Yeah, yeah we get the point Loki, it's _Lady and Tramp_ all over again. To be fair, the mission we came up with included pretty much every rom-com and fanfiction trope imaginable…" Clint pointed out, Emma couldn't help but agree. "Anyway Em-"

"Holmes, I still don't see where this is coming from." Bruce raised his hand "As a concerned citizen-"

"And the closest thing to a weird uncle that she has-" Emma interjected with a scoff.

"Yeah, you're gonna have to prove that you and Stark and Rogers and Barton aren't just being a nuisance."

"Alright," Tony nodded, putting down his sparkly mug. "Look, we have two key problems, that being, Emma?"

"Society tells women not to hold unrealistic expectations in men and that they should accept the dudebro in the fedora. Agent Reyes' unique problem is that the tall, dark and exotic are not her type; but rather the fact she's had a major crush on Gilbert Blythe from _Anne of Green Gables_ since she was about eight years old-"

"Ha, no way!" Wanda Maximoff laughed lightly, "sorry, it's just that everyone else in the room did. I did, Pietro had a crush on Robin Sparkles-"

Pietro spontaneously dashed into the room from his vacation, as you do, shouting a "Do not speak of this," before speeding out once again to Tahiti or some shit.

"Yeah, whatever." Wanda rolled her eyes before beginning where she had been interrupted, "she's also got a crush on Ben Whishaw as Q, Chekov from the Star Trek reboot movies, Fìli from the Hobbit, Finn from Star Wars, Trystane Martell in GOT, Edmund from Narnia…"

"Yes Wanda, our problem is that our Austen heroine's type of men are the guy-next-door: The Henry Tilneys of the world. To quote one of her favourite childhood authors, L.M Montgomery: a man who could be wicked, but won't." Emma shrugged her shoulders a little, Tony knew that meant the guys attracted to Agent Reyes were had the misfortune of being a little too Byronic in her tastes. "Our second problem is, Steve:"

"Apart from that one time he tried dating Natasha-" Steve glared at the ginger.

"Like you said, Capsicle, it was the one time and let's not deny it, we've all imagined dating Bucky Barnes, including your illustrious self." Natasha replied in her threateningly monotonous voice, the whole effect was ruined by the slight smirk she gave.

"Apart from Romanoff, Barnes literally hasn't had any dating experience since 1943." Steve managed to get out before fixing Banner with a glare. "Evidently, this makes our problem a little difficult."

"So, Brucie, to prove our point," Tony swiped over his StarkPad, watching the display move from the screen to the projector, "here's a powerpoint with relevant receipts that we prepared earlier."

* * *

 **Receipt 1:** ** _That one time Emma nearly died at a restaurant_**

"Well, what's that now? Twenty minutes? I'm getting worried now." Mary nodded as Emma rambled on, watching the couple in front of her. Steve was not the sort to be late, so that meant a couple of things. Mary fidgeted besides Barnes in her nerves as they conversed cordially with Loki. Her husband of course, was on baby duty, bouncing Val on his knee. Val was so much chubbier now, looking a little more like her father every day, yet somehow those nose and lips were still stubbornly the pair she would see in the mirror every day.

"Ooh, to the very definition of the word," Mary's head had turned to face the large mirror to Emma's side. Emma, too, turned to see the problem her charge was indicating. She also noticed, in their gleaming reflections, a subtle metallic arm around her charge's petite waist.

"Yikes?" Bucky asked in a shy tone, picking up on his now regular partner's linguistic peculiarities.

"Yikes, indeed." She confirmed as they noted their three key problems:

One: There were fangirls. Hordes of them with posters and merchandise and hormones.

Two: Tony Stark. Need anything else be said?

Three: All hell was breaking lose.

Emma decided to do the most sensible thing. Leave Barnes and Reyes on their own, have her husband hand them the baby before running off and joining the idiots who liked to call themselves the Avengers.

"Okay, Barnes, Reyes secure the restaurant, keep all civilians safe. Reyes, what are you picking up?"

"Um… well… vague worry, not what we need. Someone I know wants to marry someone, also not what we need. Um… OOH! This should be good." Mary clapped her hands together, scrunching eyes tight and her hand around the napkin tighter. Emma noticed Barnes flinching a little when Mary mentioned sensing marriage. "Pissed off Hydra member, shouldn't be too hard. If in doubt, use his mother as a bargaining chip, worlds' biggest mummy's boy-"

"How'd you get that?"

"Well it's either mummy's boy, or serial killer from this vibe." So Emma trusted the young agent and went out to help Steve, who was doing pretty well, Emma threatened the boy with telling his mother (and may also have quoted Kill Bill) and he ran. He ran very far.

Well, not far enough as Nat and Clint managed to get him. The pair was currently interrogating the living shit out of him at the nearby facility.

Emma wasn't entirely sure how such a team could get sloppy. Was it the room? It was certainly smaller, more cluttered than accustomed. They had plenty of cover, but so did the enemy. But it was the way they did it that got on every single person's nerves.

"You need a distraction?" Mary asked quietly, removing her empty Walther cartridges and re-arming.

"What do you have in mind?" Emma answered.

"I'm covered in enough dust and blood. I need a dust haze and I'll be able to muster something up. Cover me, I'm going to hide by that over-turned pram." Emma agreed, the others following on. The rapid-fire of continuous bullets pierced her ear, the ricochet of metal against marble and metal performing a sadistic melody.

Emma hadn't expected it, both sides unsure of what to do as white dust began to settle and heart-wrenching sobs could be heard. She hadn't known that her powers had progressed this far, causing the enemy to slightly stand from where they were hidden, some even daring to come to her as they too allowed tears to flood their faces. One even tried to wrap a bracing arm around her.

Needless to say he was dead as were the other four who moved from their posts. Her Walther PPK assured that.

"I'm going to marry her," Bucky said with such a dazed and sweet grin, Emma could not help but giggle and Steve performed his perfunctory laugh and left-boob grab before the fight started again, but now with the enemy at a significant disadvantage.

"Course y'are, Buck." Steve stated, well, it was more of a wheeze. "Haven't seen you look that dead gone on a girl since you were in fourth grade. Connie Oswald, wasn't it?"

"Really now?" Barnes retorted over minor explosions, exasperated as he ducked back behind the table he and Reyes were sheltering behind. Emma popped up for a couple of seconds, throwing some well-timed armed stars at several of their assailants before ducking back behind the table.

Grenades, among other things were not what they were expecting. It was therefore logical, or at least Emma guessed Reyes would think it logical, to therefore run from her position and throw herself over the table Barnes and Rogers were hiding at, the former catching the petite agent.

"So, you two going to need more time or should I be finding you the nearest broom closet?" Emma folded her arms as the pair in question were tangled together upon the floor.

"Uh…"

"I-uh…"

"Broom closet it is then." Emma concluded with a teasing smirk, but not before taking a photo.

* * *

 **Receipt 2:** ** _That one time Clint caught on surveillance_**

"You never let Steve see, do you?" Clint nearly spat out his coffee in shock. No, fuck that, there was coffee splatter all over the screens of his CCTV room. Reyes seemed to tuck herself into a tight ball, sitting beside Barnes on the over-stuffed and kitschy sofa, sliding her feet under his legs for warmth. Clint was confused as to _why_ they were watching Anne of Green Gables, but _sure_ indoctrinate Captain America's best friend with prime Canadian television. But they were finished now, and Reyes may or may not have cried into Barnes' shoulder at four or five various points.

"Let him see what?" Barnes seemed somewhat taken aback, staring at her in slight confusion, but the ticks in his right hand gave him away. Reyes' senses always knew.

"You never let him see the smile slide off your face," She said simply, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and flicking channels, looking for something intriguing to watch, leaving the TV on some documentary about the historical development of romantic novels. "It's all happiness and sunshine one moment, but you're really just dying inside, and you don't want him to know because you think he'll never understand… or that anyone will understand for that matter."

"You know doll, I'm kinda starting to hate how good you're getting at this." Bucky admitted with some resentment, turning and playing with the ends of her plaits. "You're right though-"

"But _why_?" She pressed, looking him dead-serious in the eye "You don't think this isn't eating him alive too? You don't think he hasn't noticed you've asked to see me after your nightmares? He feels worthless and I hate it because it's almost as if he wants to blame and hate me but can't-"

"Hey, slow down," Bucky's right hand held one of hers, thumb running across the back of her hand in a soothing manner. "You want me to explain?"

"Yeah, ideally with a thesis statement, three body paragraphs minimum and in-text citations to historians of your choice." She quipped, half-smirk pulling at her lips. Bucky breathed out a huff of a laugh before becoming serious again. Clint noticed that he almost couldn't meet her eyes, almost as if he had to formulate a lie before he could pretend to tell her the truth.

"I can't tell Steve, he doesn't understand why I need to atone for everything. I _know_ that it isn't my fault, but I still did it. I killed more people with my real hand than I did with this damn metal arm-" Bucky's metal hand let go of Mary's, but her fingers lingered, coaxing his back to the warm pile they'd created. "Y'know, before we left, he was going on and on about how it wasn't my fault, about how I didn't need to do this but… it felt like he was protecting me from the world, like I couldn't crawl my way back myself, there are days where I feel like he almost wants me to be back to who I was in the 30s and 40s."

"Steve isn't the same person he was in the 30s and 40s, if there's anyone who understands that people change, surely it's Steve." Mary answered in all honesty (no, she did, Clint had Stark's lie detector in JARVIS running). "Why are you asking me for help? Not that I don't _want_ to help you, I'd do anything to help you, but- Am I really the best person? And-"

Clint started clapping and whooping, nearly falling off his swivelly chair as Barnes raised a finger to silence her lips, metal hand pressing down ever so gently upon them. He moved his hand to cradle her face, thumb idly stroking her cheekbone. It felt as if he'd realised within a fraction of a second what he was doing, and in an instant, removed his hand, tucking it under his leg and staring down at his lap as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"C'mon Barnes, tell her, tell her the thing…" Clint urged on.

"I… uh… find your presence soothing…" Barnes started awkwardly.

"THAT'S WHAT ANAKIN SAID TO PADMÈ, NOT WHAT WE'RE GOING FOR!" Clint shouted.

"Isn't that a line from Star Wars: Attack of the Clones?" Mary asked, cocking her head to the side in adorable confusion.

"Is it? Never watched it." Bucky stammered back.

"But you were _there_ \- nah wait it was the Soviet Union, you probably didn't watch any Star Wars movie… you know what?" Bucky shook his head violently "Let's watch Star Wars, I fucking love Star Wars."

"JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER TOO!" Clint shouted before slamming his head against the keyboard in utter frustration. Dorks.

* * *

 ** _Receipt 3: Thor is definitely Mr Bingley Material._**

"No, I think Bruce reminds me more of Anne Eliot, you feel? And Betty is pretty much Captain Wentworth. Also has anyone noticed that Scott Lang looks _exactly_ like Josh from Clueless? You should watch it Thor, it's a modern adaptation of _Emma_." Thor took the young woman's comment into deep consideration. He had never anticipated becoming fond of the Austen novels, but he found himself truly enraptured by Ms Austen's prose. He should consider making it study material for children of Asgard. She manoeuvred her way around scraps of fabrics from other gowns and coats she'd been assisting in making, trying to find her little pin cushion in order to adjust the decorations of his costume. He recognised the smoking green velvet of Loki's coat, the crisp blue silk of Natasha's gown and some beads spilled from the golden embroidery she'd been adding to her own gown. Thor had learned the hard way (that being, a very angry rant about sewing) that his sister-in-law was _not_ adept at historical costuming, that was however to everyone's surprise; Miss Reyes' forte. Not even the seamstresses of Asgard were quite bothered with the ancient practise of sewing major pieces by hand, it was considered a forgotten art in some respects.

"I agree, though my sister is most _definitely_ aptly named for Miss Woodhouse, though she would play a terrific Lydia." Thor smiled as Mary carefully pinned the militaristic gold braid to the red coat she'd spent hours slaving over. It had been a whim of his to host an Austen-themed party for his beloved Jane. Speaking of Mary, there were days he found her comparable to Elizabeth. However, he was absolutely admiring her needlework and the young agent seemed to be quite fond of the Asgardian dresses they had all decided to gift her with from their trip as an apology for the events of her and Barnes' mission. Thor could think of several people who would pine over her in such a delicate shade of blush pink; she'd spent hours giggling in rapturous excitement about the quality of the fabric, eight layers of fabric and it was still fabulously translucent and lightweight, well not too translucent as to that it could not be worn on its' own.

"Ha! I think you're being an absolute sweetheart, your highness. Who am I then?" she asked out of utter curiosity as she debated about trimming the golden tassels upon his epaulettes.

"Yourself? Well, I'd consider you the perfect candidate for Miss Catherine Morland, though I think many women here at Avengers Tower could play a wonderful Elizabeth Bennet, yourself and Jane perhaps the closest in nature." Thor answered with some thought, if there had to be a person he'd become acquainted with who would be most likely to enter a room because she'd believed someone had been murdered there, it would definitely be Miss Mary Reyes.

"Oh, that's sweet!" Mary laughed, making her final adjustments on the coat before he shrugged it off in order for her to properly fix the fringing hanging too low on the epaulettes. "Have we found a suitable Mr Darcy?"

"No, I do not think so, perhaps Stark?" Thor suggested with some reluctance. "I do think his father in his youth quite resembles an actor who portrays Mr Willoughby in an adaptation-"

"I think I've just accepted everyone looked like movie stars in the 1940s." Thor heard her mutter under her breath. "Though how the hell- sorry, _I know_ , Hela's touchy about it- shit did you know that Henry Tilney was my favourite?" He wasn't sure how an expletive was better, but alright.

Thor was torn between answering honestly and answering in a manner reminiscent of Donald "Some, I assume, are good people" Trump answering a question during his political campaign.

"Barnes! What do you think of this fabric?" Thor called to the man who had just entered the sitting room in search of something, and took into account the blush rising in the young woman's cheeks. Thor was quite certain that Barnes thought it quite pretty if anything he'd learned from Steve was true.

"I think it's swell…" Barnes answered, though Thor noticed more animation in his countenance as opposed to outright apathy the instance he noticed the woman pinning fabric.

"Hey, Buck, would you mind grabbing that bolt of fabric and put it on my desk?" Mary asked the ex-assassin, pointing in the general direction of piles and rolls of fabric.

"The white muslin?" Bucky clarified and she nodded.

"Sorry, it's just that I think I need to rework my gown. By the way, you said you were alright with a Russian officer's uniform, didn't you?" Mary poked her head around Thor's shoulder in order to make eye contact.

"A-absolutely fine, doll." He answered, but Thor once again noticed the subtle shyness and the casual addition of the endearing nickname.

"Again with the nickname?" She sounded fondly exasperated as she continued to pin fabric at his shoulders, standing on a stool or two to do so.

"I think I may have found your Tilney." Thor decided to enlighten her with a smirk, or the closest translation he could find in All-speak: 'a shit-eating grin'.

"Buck? Pfft, what makes you think James Buchanan 'recently voted sexiest man at SHIELD' Barnes would be Tilney, let alone _my_ Tilney." She stopped for a moment, stepping down from the stool and standing directly before him, hands on her hips. "Again, _MY_ Tilney?!"

"Well," Thor decided to move over to the sofa and gestured for her to sit beside him. He was going to have to do it, wasn't he? Impart her with sage, elderly advise. "Miss Austen does describe Henry Tilney as ' _He seemed to be about four or five and twenty, was rather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and if not quite handsome, very near it.'_ " Thor quoted word-for-word. Mary seemed impressed that he had indeed quoted the book.

"Yes… but apart from startling physical characteristics, how does this relate to him being my Tilney?"

"He could identify fabrics for you?"

"I pointed in the general direction, he probably would've guessed I was going for the white fabric," She countered.

"He is very much at ease with women while simultaneously not toying with their affections to such a level that is beyond reason," Thor pointed out, and having known notorious flirts such as Fandral (whom he was tempted to call Wickham, if only he understood the reference), Thor considered Barnes as rather honourable in stock. "Miss Reyes, speaking rather bluntly your crush is rather obvious-"

"Yeah okay, I like the guy, but he's never going to like me back." She stated with absolute certainty.

"If he was never going to like you back, then why is he so insistent to spend so much time in your presence?" Thor fought back.

"Maybe he thinks I'm fucking hilarious?"

"Perhaps he is in love with that particular trait? Like Tilney, Barnes is witty and kind. Unlike Tilney he has faced many hardships that has erased his outwards projection of such emotions-"

"H-Hey! I don't know what universe that is, but _like_ is worlds away from _in love_ -"

"Yes, I know; Barnes doesn't like you, he's madly in love with you. Ponder upon that, Miss Reyes. Is Catherine herself wholly unaware of Tilney's affections for her?" Thor finished with a smile and clapped her upon her shoulder. "Thank you for the costume, it is brilliant! Jane and I will be the first to attest to your intelligence, but your romantic oblivion does rival Miss Morland."

* * *

 ** _The Present Day_**

"You're sure this is all true? I mean…" Bruce turned to Tony who simply snorted. Thor seemed affronted that his point-for-point and _incredibly_ accurate characterisation during his recounting seemed to be brushed aside. Tony personally sympathised with the Asgardian.

"Look, if my PA has a fifty-slide powerpoint presentation complete with fanfiction written by SHIELD's finest, then it's pretty legit. Besides, half of all our evidence was vetoed by her best friend living in Dubai. Holy _shit_ does that girl have her receipts. I'm inviting her over for the fam barbeque in thanks, but if Reyes asks, it was a surprise because she was homesick." Tony explained before suddenly gaining another genius idea, "Hey! We should get Spiderling here at our meetings, he'd be fun-"

"Speaking of that, Stark." Emma interrupted her powerpoint, making an apologetic face to Steve as he noticed the photos of Bucky with metal cats' ears. Actual Disney Prince T'Challa would _love_ those. The fake wedding photos were her personal favourite, and she was 99% sure that FitzSimmons were writing a Scientist!AU. "He's out at College, class schedules are a bitch. Also his Aunt May has some stuff for him so…"

"Ah yes, Aunt May, or as I like to call her, the Marissa Tomei of Queens. Y'know, I went to College with May-"

"Who the hell is Marissa Tomei?" Steve questioned, prompting Tony to swivel in his chair, personally affronted with a hand on his chest.

"You've never seen _Chaplin_? That's it, friendship over, you've started a war between us."

"Calm down, and let us all proceed to slide 32." Emma shone her remote's light into Steve and Tony's eyes, distracting them and drawing their attention to the projection.

* * *

 ** _Receipt 4: Fitz is asking, how is it do you say, CAFS baby?_**

"Community and Family Studies." Mary answered quietly, unnerved as every SHIELD agent turned to face her. "It's like a subject you can take, I knew people that did. One baby went off at my sixteenth, most annoying thing-"

"Yeah, yeah, they're playing to your advantage, whatever." Fitz snorted with slight derision as Coulson re-adjusted his tie, sending a pointed glare to the Scot and the fifty-odd agents gathered before him. "Coulson could you please explain again-"

"You all handled this baby mutant case terribly. Emma was tempted to choke you all to death. And believe me I would've let her get away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling kids. Thus, to fix this major issue, we're asking you all to pair up and Stark, standing to my good side, will program your infant to look and act like the pair of you. It's a little bit better than a sack baby-"

"Do they really not fund education here?" Mary turned to one of her American friends, who replied with a shrug.

"Right, Reyes, that's it, I'm pairing you with Barnes if you two are just gonna sit there and not care." Coulson turned to Stark, having finished programming the baby, thrust it into the pair's arms. Fitz was honestly unsure if it was cool or downright creepy that the baby managed to have perfect features of both 'parents'.

"We're naming him Steven." Mary suggested with a cheeky grin, Bucky snorted loudly, Fitz remained confused as Captain Rogers turned from his spot towards the front, shouting over people's heads about _not_ naming the baby after him.

"C'mon Steve, it's not a _real_ baby." Mary amended, but Bucky merely held the baby close to his chest (in a single hand, how the _fuck_ -).

"Don't say that in front of our child, and it's a girl," Bucky pointed out.

"Alright, Stephanie," Mary nodded as Tony printed out the 'birth certificate' while she booped the baby's nose. "She has your mouth." She noted in quiet delight.

"And your nose and eyes." Bucky replied with just as much fondness, winding an arm around her shoulders.

It was in that exact moment that Leopold Fitz realised that James Buchanan Barnes was going to be taking this experiment a little _too_ seriously.

Fitz spent the next month, spying Barnes with the baby in a papoose, carrying it all over the base and Avengers Tower, daring anyone to say anything against it. Carrying on in his usual quiet and reserved way, save for when he was interacting with Reyes and the baby. Also when Agent Holmes' received a shipment of her mother's trademark jams, including a certain plum jam that a certain ex-Soviet agent was partial to, he spent the entire time asking Holmes about parenting advice. That being said, Fitz still thought the Lingonberry jam went well with poached eggs and crème fraiche.

By the time they had to hand back their babies, Coulson summoned him to his side, showing Fitz with incredulous wonder the scrapbook rather than logbook, Barnes had put together to chronicle the time.

Fitz sat by Coulson for weeks, receiving complaints that Barnes and Reyes were being far too adorable. There were reports from Agent May that Barnes had been nursing the robotic baby as Reyes went along with her scientific work. They would push the baby in a pram, laden with toys and supplies as they convinced New Yorkers that there indeed a little family, going to the park and the zoo and Disneyworld. Reyes went a little overboard with dressing the baby as Barnes would place a soft kiss on the baby's forehead and adjust Stephanie's little headband. Indeed it was so realistic it had confused not only the jovial Phillie, but scrutinising Nikita and even the clever little Valerie. Nevertheless, they played with the robotic baby much to the satisfaction of Barnes behind the polaroid button. Yet even as he flicked through the pages, it seemed slightly disturbing that they were always protesting that their highly-realistic approach bordering on wishful thinking was always for 'the case'. It was always about getting the greatest information out of the exercise and training in these sort of situations.

Needless to say, Bucky Barnes and Mary Reyes scored highest marks in this exercise.

Fitz spent the rest of his time wondering if the two of them would ever actually have a _real_ baby.

He put his fiver on a year in Clint's betting pool.

* * *

 ** _Receipt 5: Peter Parker knows what's up and T'Challa is done with white people._**

Peter had no fucking idea that Black Panther was actually T'Challa, King of Wakanda, Richest Man on Earth, and hottest guy to live on it. That being said, Agent Reyes looked like she was internally planning her wedding to T'Challa as he beat the living shit out of a punching bag. To be fair, Peter too was envisioning his marriage to T'Challa and all the possibilities of getting himself out of student debt.

"Like it wouldn't be _too_ terrible of an idea, would it?" Peter was nervous, beyond nervous. MJ was out and there was no way he could find a date in time. Then Tony reminded him that Agent Reyes was pretty much his age (give or take a year or two) and was a hella awesome dancer (which was good, he didn't need to look embarrassing around the rest of his college mates as it was, they found footage of him in Billy Elliot). He wasn't nervous in the way that he'd want to go out with her, nope, never _ever_ happening. EVER. But in the sense that whenever Agent Reyes was invited to parties, shit tended to go down.

"No, I mean it sounds absolutely fun, I'm not sure if I'm free or not but- Hey Barnes!"

 _Oh shit._

Reyes didn't understand did she? Everyone at Avengers Tower- scratch that, anyone with eyes knew that asking James Buchanan Barnes was a terrible idea. Wait, Barnes _here_ …

In a gym.

He had punching bags.

 _Okay Parker, don't fuck this up._

He wasn't sure where in the world it was acceptable to get a mission report to set two people up, but apparently it was in his contract. To Peter it was pretty obvious tall, handsome, brooding, mysterious, quiet-type Bucky 'sexiest 99 year-old to grace the planet' was _clearly_ into the smolest, angriest agent he'd ever had the misfortune to meet, but really, it could get messy if he interfered.

That exact line was going into his report, including the sexy part.

But, he could recommend _meddling_.

"Synonyms don't count." His mind's inner Tony Stark stated.

"Fuck that." Said his mind's inner Captain America, "Also, don't tell Tony I swore. I don't swear… technically." He added.

"Tell them to watch _Chaplin_ if they ever have a date night." Mind-Stark added before violently wrestling Steve out of the room.

"Hey, Bucky!" Peter waved at Bucky who while confused, quietly waved back with a gentle smile, setting down his gym bag, before spying Reyes beside him and then noticing her gaze focus. Peter wasn't sure whether to make the situation worse or better.

He decided worse was the better option.

"So I was just asking Reyes if she wanted to come to this college function for science, and she was just about to double-check with you."

"You were what?" Bucky snapped a little out of his daze, facing Peter and giving him the Glare™. Peter may or may not have shat his pants a little.

"He's pretty cute isn't he?" Mary mused to herself, and Peter just noped. Terrible choice Reyes, terrible choice. Bucky turned to see T'Challa kicking a boxing bag with such ferocity it fell off the chain.

"What about me?" Peter teased, gauging Bucky's reaction, smiling internally as Bucky seemed to start feeling pissed.

"Please, you're practically an infant-"

"I'm not _that_ much younger than you-"

"I'm into men, not boys." Reyes quipped, pulling her hair into a ponytail. Peter looked at Bucky, noticing his trailing eyes follow the graceful lines of her bent arms to her neck and to her now exposed waist. Peter decided this was now or never.

"Hey, T'Challa!" Peter called out to the glistening (not sweating, T'Challa does not do something so base as sweating) man on the other side of the room. "Reyes just said she's into cute guys, do you think I qualify?"

" _What_." Peter glared at T'Challa, hoping he'd pick up his drift. After a micro-second of hopefully-positive mental exchange, T'Challa pulled off his shirt, throwing a towel around his shoulders and walking towards them. Bucky definitely seemed defensive and Mary seemed like she was seconds away from fainting. Peter Parker had a buddy see T'Challa in a shower, he said that T'Challa had an eight-pack, that T'challa was shredded.

"Like she said, Parker, she's into men not boys. So I think _I_ would definitely qualify." T'Challa sent an orgasm-inducing wink her way, and out of the corner of Peter's eye, he saw her swoon a little towards Bucky, her shoulder's weight leaning against his arm.

"Yeah, I think that answers everything, BYE!" Peter sprinted out of the room, close on the King's tail before deciding to poke his head around the side of the door, T'Challa with him, a finger pressed to his lips.

Peter watched as Agent Reyes tossed off her cropped shirt to reveal a sports bra, grabbing two batons she stood ready to fight in a lethal stance, her gaze deadly.

"C'mon Buck, fight me."

"No."

"Yes."

"Fine but without the batons," Barnes bargained. Peter smiled with glee, watching as T'Challa pulled a phone in a cat-patterned cover and record the fight.

They began to toe a taunting circle, daring to see if the other would make a move first, she would smirk a little, her strides and posture giving away her ballerina training while Barnes was more predatory, stalking as he paced the circle. She would tauntingly flaunt her batons as he would stare back unflinchingly, trying to keep his mind blank for any indication of a change in emotion, she could pounce. Peter was interested to see how Reyes would fight, considering she wasn't exactly the _strongest_ person, she couldn't bench press to save her life.

No, he was surprised when she suddenly slid on the floor between Bucky's legs, climbing upon his shoulders to pull him into a thigh choke while he managed to toss her off. She landed lightly, barely touching the floor as she made her rounds with the batons, striking at him directly as he blocked with his arms, twirling to avoid his direct attacks as her feet marked the steps of an intricate dance, every step neat and precise. The cuts of her batons looked brutal as they made contact with sensitive points- between shoulders and the neck, the lower-side of the torso, between his legs as she managed to push him to the floor on his back. Agent Reyes boldly straddled his hips, raising a brow in amusement she rolled her rips a little, a playful grin pulled at the edge of her full, pink lips.

Peter needed to erase that hip roll and ensuing moan from Barnes, from his innocent mind. Preferably with bleach. Maybe Stark sill had the tech they used to brainwash Bucky…

"Enjoying the view?" Barnes asked breathlessly, his metal fingers trailing along her exposed flesh to her waist, resting gently at the elastic of her leggings. Peter's mouth gaped open, staring pointedly at T'Challa. The Wakandan ruler held back a snort, continuing to film with a shrug. "I know I am."

"I don't know, mate. I'm a little busy being distracted about what I _hope_ is just a phone in your pocket," Tongue caught between her teeth in a teasing smile. "You're gonna have to take care of that,"

"You'd have to help me, you know I'm terrible with technology on my own," He replied, rolling her over, back pressed against the light foam of the gym floor. He smirked in triumph, pinning her small wrists above her head.

"Why would I help you with something so small?" She winked, delivering a sharp thrust of her knee to his chest. He rolled off her, and with confidence no one in the building knew she possessed, she sauntered away with a sultry sway of her hips, bending down provocatively to pick up her bag and exit the gym.

 _Fucking rekt._ Peter thought.

"Savage," T'Challa answered his internal thought in an amused whisper.

* * *

 **Receipt 6: Is this a fanfic? Well, then Loki's titling it: 5 times Mary Reyes saved his life and the one time he saved hers.**

 _The Gala, three months before Sydney._

"Barnes! My wife has been pacing like _mad_ \- fuck." Barnes pleaded quietly with the Jotun, noting the dark blue circles beneath his eyes and the small towel used for nursing infants lopped over his shoulder. Bucky staggered out of the glass lift and to the deserted dining room of the shared floor, blood slowly dripping crimson-petal patterns upon the monolithic slab upon the floor.

"I-I can't take her to a hospital, it's not a human poison," He began to explain as he tried settling her against the sofa, it was only five steps away after all. But he failed, the Winter Soldier failed and he decided the floor was easier instead, dread filling his mind.

"What happened? Barnes… Barnes, what happened?" Loki was urging him to speak, "Tell me the truth, I can lie to my wife to protect you both, she'll understand eventually…"

"But-"

"She's asleep at the moment, give her five minutes to notice I'm gone. Now tell me, and I can help you."

"We've got this covered, _go_!" Agent Hiddleston ushered him into the back of a van, his arms still wound around his new partner tightly as he dragged her feet lightly across the pavement, wincing at the fact he'd be scratching the shoes she borrowed off Stark's wife. She seemed resigned with the fact, Mary or whatever the hell her name was. They didn't explain why they'd thrust the young woman in his general direction, and to be honest, he was surprised they'd trust him this much. _He_ didn't trust himself that much.

He hated the fact she seemed too young to be working with him, practically baby-faced and still a dewey-eyed school girl with her head in textbooks piled higher than he stood tall. He hated the dichotomy of being she presented, of seeming innocent but then in a blink of an eye resting against that marble platform with a sniper in her hand as if he'd trained her himself, her technique astounded him actually. Bucky reminded himself that he'd need to tell her to brace herself against recoil better.

"H-hey, I'm fine, nothing major, yeah?" She reassured, crawling into the seat and jabbering away instructions to the driver while bleeding to death, as you do. "Ah, dammit, we're past curfew-" His eyes widened in horrific realisation at the glaringly obvious wound in his face, if the blood hadn't made it apparent enough.

"That's honestly all you care about?" Bucky felt his frustrations building up as he cradled her against his chest, blood seeping into the red of her gown. He hated to admit it, but the red suited her awfully well, the blood, not as much.

And he could feel it, soaking into his hands, warm and sticky as her breaths began to shorten, he cursed modern New York Traffic- who was he kiddin', it was always like this. And minutes began to tick on, her rapid heart syncopating the beat of his watch and his own heart, a perverse waltz beat.

" _Words dry and riderless, the indefatigable, hoof-taps. While from the bottom of the pool, fixed stars govern a life."_ He stared at her, unsure of where the _hell_ that one came from. "It's from a poem. Words, Sylvia Plath."

"What's it about?" He asked, trying to engage her in conversation, willing himself to be eager to listen to the quirky lilting of her accent that he was quickly growing accustomed to… against his better judgement.

"The loss of meaning in her words and their inability to convince her that her life was worth anything, just dictated by faith." She coughed, taking in a deep breath. "Why are you angry at me?"

" _What_?" He lifted her head quickly, feeling her legs pull in closer to him as he cradled her small form.

"You're angry, I can sense it-"

"Do us all a favour and value your life a little more-"

"I do, I just unhealthy related to that poem in highschool-"

"Then _don't_ -"

"What do you want me to talk about then? Cute Russian songs by Alexander Rybak?" She snapped back in her usual wit before taking a haggard inhale and releasing an ear-splitting scream, the graze on her shoulder turning a grotesque cocktail of greens and mottled greys. His nose seemed to be buried in the soft space between her shoulder and neck.

She didn't deserve this, she needed someone who didn't have decades-worth of blood on their hands.

"I'd always wondered what it would be like, to be successful,"

"You _are_ ,"

"No, at dying. I'd nearly tried far too many times," Her voice was too calm, too manner-of-fact. It unnerved him at how serious she was, she above all else shouldn't be thinking like that. "I once stopped myself from walking into a semi-trailer as I walked home from school… at the intersection… just wandering in, it couldn't hurt much more…."

"Yes it would. I've fallen off trains, believe me. It hurts like a bitch." He tried harder than he ever had in his life to disassociate the image of a bloody road and a school bag, textbooks and pens strewn across a four-lane intersection and a tangle of soft- black braids ended with white ribbons.

"Washing dishes, knives and sharpening them. I'm fond of cooking. If you want to cook you have to have sharp knives," She noted quietly, her listing getting faster and faster. "Embroidery scissors while I tried embroidering my denim jacket, electrocuting myself, poisoning myself-"

"Stop, you're worth more than that," Bucky tried interrupting, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

"No, no I'm not." She laughed a blood-spluttering laugh "We're all dying anyway, I like being early to things, I abhor tardiness."

"I'm sure death won't mind waiting for a precious thing like you, god knows he's had his share of early surprises."

"Has he? Perhaps he won't mind one more-"

"No, he will most definitely mind. I will mind."

"I promised to keep you safe… I did that." She mumbled quietly, eyes failing to focus upon the grey felt of the car ceiling or upon his worried face. He brushed hair back from her cheeks now, watching small tears slide from her eyes, unable to comprehend anything.

After a minute, she refused to respond, simply breathing shallow breaths and blood still oozing from the heavily-infected wound.

"C'mon kid, you can pull through this. Just do it for me." He whispered against her hair.

Well, there wasn't much he could do now, and in her lucid state he left a soft kiss upon her forehead and another, more desperate one at the corner of her still red lips with the promise of all those fairy tale endings romantics like her dreamed of. She'd never remember, and that's how he'd prefer it, smoothing her hair back as the Jotun began to usher him away, pleading, his eyes communicating the exact same thing Bucky felt in the bottom-most pits of his soul.

It would be a crime to let her life go to waste.

"Barnes, you have to leave her-"

"I-I can't-" Bucky protested, Loki seemed to nod, urging him to cradle her head as his daughter, the small girl that she was, began to turn dark, half her face becoming skeletal and terrifying as she took hold of Mary's left hand.

"I know you love her, just _leave_." He implored, "I don't want you to see this,"

"Never." Bucky affirmed, stubbornly sitting by Mia's side. "I don't care who the hell you two are, but I can't let her die-"

"No, you don't _want_ her to die. You don't want her to leave you," Lokisdottir corrected gently, in a manner that seemed far too ancient for a girl who looked a little over fourteen. "Here, hold her in your lap, it'll help in case,"

"In case what?" Bucky interjected, nevertheless taking her bleeding form into his arms, gently resting her head against his shoulder.

"In case this gets violent. If she stars convulsing, just hold her, technically this may not work on humans and as a mutant-" Loki shared a significant glance with his daughter, "her genetic material may react differently."

"I don't care, just save her." Bucky replied, fixing the Jotun with a the steeliest glare he could possibly muster. It must not have work, no, his feelings must have betrayed otherwise. He looked hurt, lost.

Bucky never mentioned the above to Emma Holmes-Laufeyson. No, after what she'd put Reyes through, Barnes wasn't about to trust her completely.

It wasn't even a matter of whether she was young or hell, if he liked her. It was a matter of there were forty other Agents with higher qualifications and dare he say, more dispensable than her.

Emma arrived three minutes later, throwing a fuss and realising what she'd done wrong. Did he think she'd care entirely? No, not really, she would put the event out of her mind and the guilt would niggle a little at the back of her thoughts.

So when he protested the Sydney mission? Hidden beneath the insistence that he was dangerous and that she was being pulled out of a television marathon was the underlying fear that Holmes really just wanted the pair of them dead. Experience told him that a woman such as her wouldn't entirely regret it. He just hoped he was wrong.


	3. Act 3

A/N: Trigger warning for slightly suicidal tendencies. But it's nothing graphic, more metaphorical.

* * *

Act 3- A Regency Ball

Mary, to be completely honest, wasn't entirely sure as to why Thor had to make sure everyone had their part to play for Jane's Ball. For some odd reason, she was to be an heiress and a ward to Emma, thus anyone who wanted to dance with her must ask Emma. Loki had a last minute request for a ballgown instead of a tailcoat and she would've obliged were it not for the fact she was running out of designs and fabric, and she promised to make it up some other time, but if Loki were to go in his female form, those eyes would look stunning against that emerald green chiffon… she should sketch that.

It certainly wasn't her first ball, but it may as well have been. Several of her societies at university had held Balls, she had a debutante ball. It should have felt routine…

But in a giant celebration before moving out of Avengers Tower, Stark demolished the entirety of his and Pepper's quarters, and granted scholarships to budding set and costume designers to design a ballroom in the Empirical style, but also to create clothing for every single guest (and the designers, for they were guests too). Thor sent out manuals for everyone to learn how to dance, the exact year the ball was to be set (1812, she could discuss Napoleon) and every person currently not in a relationship were given dance cards, he hoped he could fulfil all of Miss Austen's dreams somehow. Tony also told her, with a cheeky grin, that hiring students killed off two birds with one stone; he'd get the room done cheaper, with less fuss, with greater detail, love, passion and at a more efficient cost (he didn't mind it being too big), as well as providing these students with the Green Card of all previous work experience to put on their résumés.

So there she stood in a glittering ballroom, white walls with golden gilding and mirrors reflecting every single candle in a candelabra or in a chandelier, she was intermingling with scientists and the elite, given an opportunity to shine just once more before she confined herself to private study in the Compound. At the very least Mr Stark (well, technically he was a doctor) Doctor Banner, Doctor Ross and Doctor Foster-Thorson were all she could have asked for as teachers, but there was no Masters, just a stupid fucking bachelor's she thought was absolutely pointless. She'd yet to be offered a dance, but it was only early, she supposed and there was still plenty of Punch alà Romaine, so perhaps she had hope. They all looked so dashing in their costumes, many of the men in Military regalia and some in well-tailored tailcoats. She was proud to say hers held par, after all, she'd seen many people stare after both Hel and Harley.

"Been offered a dance yet, Natasha Rostova?" Emma teased, taking a sip of punch and smiling at Loki who was waving at Thor and Jane at the other side of the room.

"My dear wife, please stop making her feel bad, the memes she posts of Facebook are terrible enough." Loki rolled his eyes but smiled reassuringly at her "It cannot be as bad as my first ball,"

"But you're Tom Hiddleston's doppelgänger and he's married to Taylor Swift now…" Mary countered, fiddling with the mother-of-pearl button holding up her kidskin opera gloves. She wasn't sure why anyone had asked to dance with her yet, she knew she wasn't the prettiest, but damn it she looked hot in that white muslin and silk with the embroidery motifs and jewels studded into the train she did _by hand_. She wasn't going to let that go. By fucking hand. She also decorated the ballet slippers by hand, but never mind, it wasn't that important.

"Ah yes, but when your brother is Thor and custom dictates that women ask men to- or at least whichever gender you are attracted to- dance, it is a little difficult. Also I am _terrible_ at Asgardian dances, waltzes are far more preferable." Loki explained with a grimace.

"What my husband means is that he can't do Regency dances," Emma explained with a shrug "That's fine though, I hear many men here can dance them,"

"Mhm, doesn't mean they'll _want_ to dance with me." Mary muttered, adjusting the tiara sitting upon her head. She was also sure that Natasha Romanoff was actually royalty because she was 99.9999% sure the Kokoshnik she was wearing belonged to the royal family. "I'm starting to think the only reason men wanted to dance with me at Jenolan was because we had an infinity stone sitting in our hotel room,"

"Well, they haven't seen you dance yet," Emma quipped before motioning that she and Loki were going to see how the others were doing. Mary agreed and fanning herself with her lace fan, she began to make a slow turn about the room, observing the beautiful velvets that the older women were wearing and the small children in miniature period costume, the excited students babbling with each other in rapturous excitement as they recognised the famous faces enjoying their handiwork.

After what felt like eight turns about the room, she stood by Emma again, fiddling with her still empty dance card.

"Oh damn it all, she's not going to calm down until someone dances with her." Loki muttered to his wife, "Miss Reyes, are you occupied for the next dance?"

"I- uh, no." Mary admitted with a quick glance at the lack of names.

"Then you're going to dance with me. If I step on your toes, woe betide you." He gave the best reassuring, yet cheeky grin he could muster.

"Warning taken, Mr Laufeyson." Mary nodded.

Loki, the fucking liar- well not so much, was not that terrible of a dancer. Alright, so he messed up a couple of pas de basques and the timing was just a little off, but let it not be said he wasn't graceful. And he made brilliant conversation, teasing her about boys staring after her and threatening to chase after them if she didn't. There were passing comments about her, within earshot, commenting on her dancing or her hair or her dress. The nearby dancers wondered at her, whose daughter she was, whose mail-order bride, whose catfish. But she still she smiled, making her curtsies to Loki as he escorted her back to Emma.

The carriage clocks slowly ticked on, counting them. The child in her half-hoped that this would be a fairytale, magic ready to sweep her away at midnight lest her silk dress fade away to rags.

Oh it could be.

She could tell it as such:

 _Once upon a time there was a girl, hardly worth of note in her little village. She was of modest means, from a family that cared for her and gave her the shining brown eyes that radiated the warmth of the summer day in which she was born. She was clever above all else, that was all she knew, that was all she cared about. The boys were fond of her and the girls played with her and the teachers of the little village's school loved her. She would often run to the wildflower field beyond the farms and beyond the great mountain forest of the little village, to sit and dance and dream of what her life could be._

 _This little girl braided her hair every morning, tying the raven ends off with white ribbons. She would bid her parents goodbye and she would walk to school with her friends. She was never particularly tall, but she could dance well and that was an asset at the village dance. She grew older, anticipating the village ball that she could finally attend once she turned sixteen. She imagined it to be a glistening affair with the boys she was equally as fond of, the girls who were far too dear to her and conversations with the teachers who would help her grow up to a graceful and beautiful girl of sixteen._

 _Sixteen came for the little girl with all the abruptness of harsh summer storms. She was not beautiful, that title would be bestowed upon the other girls, the girls far too dear to her heart. Or at least they had been. Slowly the knitted seams of friendship began to fray as conflicts arose over the boys who were fond of her. They expected her to be the town whore with the numbers of boys she sat and debated and talked with. Yet those endearing boys began to notice the beautiful girls and she found herself left with but one source of company, the school teachers. After all, she was clever above all else, and that was all she cared about. She hid how she felt about the dashing, young literature tutor, smiling and teasing as a friend would. She confided in the motherly geometry teacher of all her fears and doubts. But it was the theatre-master who prepared her for the real world. From under his wing those long years, he shaped her into a woman of sharp wit with a fatherly twinkle in his youthful eyes. He fought with her parents, a woman of intelligence in this kingdom would never be allowed into the king's astronomy tower. No, such a thing were impossible, not even with her sharpness. He insisted that the girls' theatrical ability be put to use, let her be clever, let her dance and sing and laugh and simply live beneath that oak tree in that field of wildflowers._

 _It was not to be. So it was with tears in his eyes he comforted the young woman, her raven hair still braided in plaits ended with white ribbons. A midwife, she could prepare for such. An apothecary's assistant, her dear male friends would enjoy her company and advice. A wife? Well, he wasn't sure how to prepare her, being a not entirely too fussy man. But he assured the girl that she was kind and clever and held all the accomplishments that any man, perhaps even a lord would ask for. Indeed, it surpassed many of the girls. The dress she had sewn herself was far superior to any that the little village had seen before._

 _Yet that was what ruined her, that little dress. That brilliantly white gown of the latest fashion. The fabric was soft, from the very fibres of the most beautiful silkworms, toiled over a loom by hand and woven into a bolt of fabric. Indeed, it had lain in the old woman's market stall for years, always passed over for it intimidated many who saw it, unable to envision a masterpiece worthy of such fabric. Yet the young woman took the bolt without a second thought, only pausing to pick a red, red ribbon from the fripperies that her former friends had rummaged through in order to decorate new hats._

 _There was no faerie godmother for this young woman, as she prepared for the dance. It was not a ball, as her teachers would correct, balls were for those in the palace. Those with faerie godmothers were the beautiful girls, and they manifested in the form of wealthy tinkers and tailors and bootmakers. The girl only had her nimble fingers, embroidering the wildflower field she had loved to dance in so oft. Poppies of blood red formed at the hem of her gown, followed by dainty blue cornflowers that perfumed her turns and wild roses that adorned her hair as she imagined herself a queen, a goddess in a world far away. No one disturbed her in the wildflower field, it was too dangerous, mothers would warn, populated with black adders. But the young woman danced and sang and lay there anyway, sitting bare-legged, skirt hiked up as she read books and poetry, blushing as she would unintentionally read a phrase in that dashing literature tutor's voice._

 _The dance had not meant to ruin her. Yet it had. One by one she was left alone and dance partners did not find her. She still smiled charmingly, as she always had, sitting primly upon a bench, occasionally conversing with those who asked after her as warm brown eyes twinkled beneath garlands of golden lanterns and flowers so cruelly torn from her wildflower field. They were sewn with little expertise and with little kindness into strings of flowers, as if they were raining from the starry heavens themselves. But she could not care less, not even the lively music enough to stir her soul. They toyed with her heart that night, those boys who were once so fond of her. Thus it was with tears in her eyes and a serene face, she curtsied to the hosts, bidding farewell as she wandered from the crowded village square to the wildflower field. For if she were only to be happy there, she may as well stay there._

 _The path was one she was well-familiar with; the cobblestones would fade to the sandy gravel of farm paths before slowly turning green with the gentle leaf litter of the great forest. The forest would twist and turn in its dense lushness, her feet often skimming the calming trickle of the freshwater stream. But she did not skim, she did not romantically hum and sigh, tonight she ran hard, hair falling out of its curled and pinned up braids. The braids swung as they always had, against her shoulders and her breast in a rhythm. She had been kidding herself to think she was grown, to pin up her hair. But not even the curled braids lasted, untangling themselves and remaining threaded with delicate blossoms of whitest jasmine._

 _There was a figure in the wildflower field that night, an otherworldly woman with raven hair arguably darker than her own, and skin paler than the jasmine in her now loose hair. She was a witch, she learned, and she offered the young woman a choice. She could remain the wildflower field forever or she could continue onwards, past the field and beyond. Another world._

 _And the heartbroken girl, feeling a fool, agreed to the other world._

 _The other world was a lie, it was merely a larger town housing the King's palace. It was no different to her little village. Oh no, she was of little not, but she was clever, that was all she knew and all she cared about. She was just another young woman, signifying her ill-prepared state for marriage by still wearing her hair down. In plaits, they would jibe around the pub as they discussed the new oddity of the girl, like a little child. They would be well into their cups before they released a raucous laugh at the white ribbons that ended the plaits. But they all spoke of the white gown she wore. They whispered it was the work of faeries. The others believed it to be a gift of a faerie godmother who abandoned the girl once learning of her fallen nature. Others believed her to be dead, a ghost from another world visiting, still garbed in the flowers that covered her grave. They were so wholly ignorant._

 _The news of the young woman with her hair in plaits, ended with white ribbons eventually reached the ears of the king through his fiery spymaster. Wealthy and broken, the news floated upon the summer breeze with the sweetness of the nightingale's melody. It amused him, and he bade his witch bring the girl forth. The girl proved to be an amusement, working in his astronomy tower alongside his easily-angered advisor and his young protégée._

 _Yet years dwindled on and the king offered time and time again to replace the pristine gown with a far more expensive gifts, of fabric from the farthest flung continents of the planet. Yet every time the woman would refuse, insisting that it must remind her of her heartbreak. Of the betrayal she felt from all those who stated she was not destined for anything in the world. And she wore it with pride, expertly darning every little tear and adding every little bloom she could remember to the gown, reminding her of her former happiness in the little wildflower field. She cursed herself as she realised that no, she did not have a magical godmother as other girls did, but fate provided its' own in turn. The theatre-master had been a veritable faerie godmother and if she willed herself enough to believe, the dashing literature tutor who had been only a little older than she, was her own destined prince. But, she was not that naïve, she refused to be so again. So the cynicism replaced the sheen of romanticism, burying it deep within her as she noted the dwindling amount of pristine fabric left to embroider blooms upon._

 _That evening, as she had given up all hope, she was called for by the king. The king announced that his patriotic Captain and his marksman second-in-command had returned finally from the bloody war. The palace was aflutter with its usual cruel intrigues and harsh whispers, yet it was markedly sprinkled with the delight of two more men to ensnare for the game of husbandry._

 _She had decided that night to take it upon herself to use that bolt of shimmering silver the king had procured for her, gathering dust in her overflowing trunk as she refused to replace her masterpiece. Perhaps it was time for a change, the woman thought. So her fingers got to work, forming and shaping a gown that would hug her every curve in the latest fashion. It was alluring and beautiful and she would achieve it._

 _She had not thought that those at court would begrudge her the single night to be happy. Yet it was not to be so. As she awoke from a fitful dream, the dress was to be found unpicked and in tatters upon the stone floor, sewing box a scattered mess around the palace gardens, unable to be finished in time for the ball._

 _So the woman, reduced to feeling as if she were the girl she had been once a long time ago, hitched up the skirt of the floral gown as if it were a bouquet of comfort, and she ran, barefoot to the wildflower field of her happiness. She was uncaring of the laden village carts of her childhood friends, or the cooks who were once her playmates carrying their food. But she did stop for an instance, recognising the dashing literature tutor, now sporting a beautiful wife, the sort with a faerie godmother and a child or two hanging off his arms. She smiled, glad to see his face once so characteristically sad, now lit with contentment. So she once again composed herself and ran to the wildflower field, shouting for witch, for the stars and suns to hear._

 _She did not ask, she demanded. The very heat of her bitter soul unleashed to all the heavens._

 _So the stars returned her favour._

 _Her feet tangled in re-grown blooms, the stars themselves danced about her, asking her what she wanted. And she replied simply, with tears in her eyes and the smallest smile on her face. All hope lost to the east wing long ago._

 _She wanted to be supremely happy, even if it was just once._

 _The stars then asked if she would be willing to die if she once more stepped in her wildflower field._

 _The woman replied that she had been ready to die long ago._

 _So they agreed to her request and they bathed her in starlight and sunshine, forming a glistening golden dress around her cowering body. She was bathed in sunlight, the colour of sunshine the day she was born and of the strands of golden lanterns that had once tormented her, every step a harmonic composition of cheer and a swish of golden fabric unlike anything to be seen on the mortal plane. Her hair adorned with a crown of stars and the triumphant king of all flowers, white roses._

 _That notion of otherworldliness should have forewarned her, but she didn't care, she was clever and that was all she knew and that was all she cared about. Steely grey clouds lifted her to the palace's shimmering ballroom in a silent descent._

 _She danced to her heart's content, never tiring and her smile never failing, her heart full. She was greeted with kindness by the men who were once fond of her, the women who had played with her and the teachers who had loved her- but not only that, were proud. The theatre-master laughed, tears in his still youthful eyes, glad to see her among the king's astronomers, to see her grown into the woman the school teachers always knew she would be._

 _That night she gained the attention of the second-in-command. He was a charming man, broken but kind, blue eyes rivalling the blue of the cornflowers of her usual gown. He danced with her, whispering in her ear and calling her beautiful. She shook her star-adorned head with a laugh, entering his open embrace and asking if he preferred her to be clever instead. For that was all she knew. He called her a cheeky wit and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His heart already lost._

 _Her happiness could not be surpassed as she danced with the Sergeant, now promoted to his own branch. A captain, or so the whispers said, for his bravery. While the Captain was to be promoted to a colonel. She spun, her feet remembering steps she had long ago danced in the wildflower field, spinning and turning in the marble ballroom, trading the gentle brush of flowers and wild grasses for the swish of silk and taffeta against her ankles._

 _His cornflower blue eyes were the last thing her own warm brown ones saw. For the ballroom was now her wildflower field of happiness and the sergeant her oak tree that she sat beneath and dreamed. And stars always deliver upon their promises, for wishes must be paid with honesty._

 _The woman died happy, gently falling to the floor in the arms of the distraught sergeant, unable to understand why the men who were once fond of her and the girls who once played with her stood by, unable to watch and fled. The sergeant wept bitterly and shouting to the stars who had now abandoned her, holding in his arms the graceful body of a young woman, still ingrained in the minds of all as a woman in a dress of flowers, with plaits ended in white ribbons. Never remembering that she was clever, even though it was all she knew and all she cared about._

Mary stepped back a little in shock, taking into account a somewhat uncomfortable looking Bucky. She mused, wondering how long she had sat there in utter pity for herself, biding herself get over it.

"Countess Laufeyson, may I have the honour of dancing with Miss Reyes?" She tried to hide her laugh as Bucky somehow kept a semblance of severity in bowing and kissing her hand.

"You may," Emma smiled "Careful with her, Prince Bolkonsky,"

"No, my life is _not_ War and Peace-" Mary began her protest before remembering that Thor had indeed asked them to be the opening couple for the waltz for some strange and unknown reason.

"Well, it's certainly not Anna Karenina." Bucky quipped "Look, I might have been a Soviet Assassin but we did have to undergo dance training, I'm not that terrible… okay, my sisters all did ballet, I got forced to dance with them at home,"

"Well, it's not as if we can get out of it," Mary brushed back a small curl from her forehead before curtseying deeply and placing a gloved hand atop of his outstretched hand. "Mr Barnes, I would be honoured to have this dance," She gave as brilliant a grin a she could, taking measured steps to the centre of the ballroom, feeling every single pair of eyes upon her.

Tony walked over to the orchestra pit, clapping his hands in the theatrical manner she had come to observe came package deal with Tony, he gathered the attention of the entire room, the talking stopping for the briefest of moments, every breath and every heartbeat audible as the atmosphere in the room electrified.

"Ladies and Gentlemen and everyone in between, the waltz while we consider it a boring piece of our dance repertoire in comparison to dropping it like it's hot on our dance floors," Tony nodded in recognition of the titter of laughs. "The waltz was the equivalent to groping and gyrating on the dancefloor to our Regency counterparts as… well… groping and gyrating on the dancefloor is now."

"Think you can do this, Reyes?" Bucky asked quietly, his right hand resting lightly upon the small of her back as her own right hand rested just below his shoulder.

"Just pretend it's a mission," Mary replied, calming herself despite the thudding of her heart in her corset, though Bucky's warmth seemed to be reassuring as was his smile.

"Don't look at them, just look at me." Bucky instructed her gently, Mary spent the moment admiring his well-coiffed and surprisingly voluminous hair and the glint of the gold fringing on his white officer's coat. _Damn_ she was good at tailoring, she should go into business.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Mr Barnes and Miss Reyes opening the scandalous waltz." Tony announced and the violins began to play. For that single moment in time she could feel every single eye in the room focused on her, unrecognising but intrigued.

Mary exhaled a little gasp as Bucky and her feet carried her in the sweeping steps of the waltz she'd learned so long ago in her ballet classes, her arms and his moving instinctively in sync as they performed a complicated port de bras, her left arm moving to fifth as his own met hers there, twirling her as they moved around the room. The ballroom seemed like a gilded blur now of multi-coloured satins and sparkling jewels as the painted ceiling above seemed to spin endlessly, she was far too giddy, giggling with Bucky as they continued to spin around the room, noticing other dancers begin to join them in their delight.

Her skirt would swirl in the most magnificent manner as she occasionally left is embrace to extend an arm or as he would lead her through a pirouette once again, his face so seemingly carefree and for once genuinely happy. And she could sense that too, a mind filled entirely with bliss with laughs matching hers as she squealed, her voice unheard over the melodic orchestra and the gossiping chatter of the onlookers.

Was she dizzy? Had she drank too much alcohol? No, she was giddy with happiness, willing for the waltz to last for all of eternity as he held her, their eyes meeting constantly unless she moved to turn but they would always search for each other, refusing to move away.

Was she in love? _Impossible._

They gradually fell out of the waltz, stilling as time did around her and his arms slowly loosened around hers, yet her eyes still focused upon the crystalline blue of his eyes. She knew them so well, always filled with pain, always filled with sadness. But today? She couldn't pin it down, his feelings lost to a tumultuous sea of her own confusion.

So she pulled away, a vision of silks and muslins fluidly dropping to the floor in a deep and sudden curtsey, the crystal tiara glittering upon her black curls as she straightened once again, moving away from him with as much politeness as she could. She needed to run away, she couldn't stay here, not feeling like this.

Mary weaved her way through the crowd, brushing chiffoned shoulders and perched on the toes of her slippers as she lightly navigated through the sheer mass of people there that night. Watching her. Judging her as they thought to themselves that there was yet another jilted lover abandoning the man who broke her heart. They must have seen her so _naïve._

But the pale white and golden ballroom was far too much, her feet felt cold against the dead and lifeless marble floor.

"Mia-" She heard snippets of her name as Bucky tried calling her, following her. Emma tried grabbing her hand but she slipped away, discarding of her gloves in the process. "Mia, please-"

 _Why did he always sound so loving?_ It only hurt them more the more they kept pretending.

She kept pushing forward anyway, making her way to the empty entrance hall and into the emergency stairwell. The drab, grey cement and the frigid steps were a marked difference from the stifling heat of the ballroom.

It was only in there, left alone to the solitude of ringing silence and radiating heat from her body that she finally allowed the confused tears to fall in silvery trails, grief welling up in her chest as she resigned herself to the pain that gripped her heart in a tightening fist.

 _She loved him._


	4. Act 4

Act 4- A Passing Whim

"Just imagine it," Pepper said as she handed Mary a cup of coffee with a wink before she turned her attention back to the papers Tony had been stepping her through.

"No Pep, not _this_ hypothetical situation, you know I _hate_ modern day AUs." Tony protested as he ticked Mary's final equation and ruffled her hair with fondness. Pepper rolled her eyes and took another fried-kale chip from Tony's slowly dwindling bowl, getting used to the taste.

"No really, a strip club AU! If the whole operation fails!" Pepper pointed out while Emma paused mid-way between the bench and the filing cabinet, looking interested.

"No, I think it would be a good idea, what about you Steve?" She asked the confused man in the corner as he attempted to patch together a young boy's bionicle from the crèche downstairs.

"Look, I don't think everyone wants to see my star-spangled ass, but that sounds like an interesting line of work…" Steve conceded with a smirk and a wink that would make Natasha Romanoff proud.

"Careful Steve, you'll make Bucky jealous again." Pepper warned with a snort, looking over at Bucky "However, Barnes… you into that line of work?"

"Uh-" Bucky Barnes looked up from the elaborate Lego set he was attempting to assemble. He turned back around and Pepper found herself somewhat unsatisfied with the answer.

No matter what the answer was. That was how the male members of the Avengers had found themselves involved in what could only be described as a Playboy photoshoot. For charity of course, there was no other way to do it.

Not very many people knew that Virginia Potts was perhaps _the_ evil mastermind of her elementary school. One would have to be after all, if they were to successfully be not only Stark's PA, but CEO and now wife. Of course, the job came with a few perk and privileges, such as Tony's well-proportioned behind, however… there was an ulterior motive to the photoshoot.

Getting Reyes and Barnes to admit their goshdarned feelings.

Their plans were running thin. They tried keeping it G rated with a Disneyland trip, but _that_ didn't work out. Thor and Jane's Regency Ball kinda didn't work out, Steve's idea of getting them to a 1940's style diner didn't work out _exactly_ the way they planned but on the upside; their motorbike photo looked cute. And not to mention, Holmes' mission didn't entirely have the intended effect despite being _exactly_ like a road trip AU fanfic.

So, she decided on the only thing that could possibly work:

A Playboy photoshoot calendar for charity, featuring the male Avengers.

Of course, Steve had called dibs on July. There was no way he wasn't going to take the July spread with star-spangled spandex. Tony required the month of May for some obscure reason, Clint wanted June and Loki managed to secure April (for the sake of April fools', of course, he couldn't let his trickster reputation suffer).

Ardous days passed, and Pepper was low-key (pun intended) glad that the final day of shooting was left.

"This shot just isn't working, Mr Stark…" Peter murmured quietly. Emma rolled her eyes, tossing aside clothing from the rack waiting beside some heavy lighting equipment. Tony handed Pepper another copy and she thanked him quietly, pursing her lips a little in thought.

"Look, I've tailored _everything_ , I don't understand what isn't working," Emma moaned "I mean, you're a brilliant photographer, the lighting is good, the subject is above good,"

"Am I doing something wrong?" His innocent, lost little question gave Pepper the most disgustingly evil idea. It almost made her feel bad if it weren't for the fact this may potentially be the only thing that could resolve their pressing issue at hand.

"Yes," Tony interjected, seeing where her mind had leaped.

"No," Pepper turned her back to Barnes, winking to her husband and subtly gesturing to the young woman to the side, messing around with the hair products and make-up brushes that needed desperate organisation.

"It feels empty. You in a dishevelled suit is… racy," Mary piped up, realising what the frame would have needed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear after observing the lay-out for a couple of seconds.

"Yeah we can fix that, Tony, _sweetheart_ … are there any available models? Mrs Laufeyson-Holmes not included." Pepper baited her husband and his PA, watching the discreet knowing smirk grow on Emma's sharp face. Peter promptly found an appropriate low-laying and worn leather armchair in a deep brown.

"Um, Mr Barnes, could we sling that tie around your neck?" Peter threw over the tie, Pepper liking where the idea was going.

"…Yeah, fashion week is making it difficult, which one?" Tony asked Holmes, muffling the receiver as she too put down her mobile in wonderfully faked frustration.

"Sydney, I think. None of them will be able to get over in time…"

"Not even the pay incentive?"

"Not even that, Stark," Emma admitted with a furrow of her brows. "Mary?"

"Mhm? Before you ask, I don't know any models… MJ's at Sydney Fashion week too, ey?" Mary asked Peter who replied with a nod.

"You ever wanted to wear lingerie more expensive than your university tuition?"

"Ahahaha, _no_." She took a step back, taken aback in utter shock and slowly turning red. " _No_!" Folding her arms, mouth opening and closing without releasing a protest, unable to form one. "Bucky, tell them this is an inherently atrocious idea!"

"Well…" Pepper watched on, curious as to how the events would unfold. "I'd understand if you don't wanna do this, dollface, but.."

"But what?"

"I'd feel more comfortable at least, if it was you," Pepper internally punched the air, taking a pointed sip of her coffee and flashing a quiet grin at her seated husband and the younger Avenger. "You don't have to-"

"Well, alright. Just don't put my face in it, please." Mary conceded with great consideration, pulling off her jumper as Emma in delight, handed over lingerie she had prepared in advanced and leading her to a dressing screen. Pepper watched in vainly-concealed delight as Bucky gulped nervously, being fussed over by Emma as she left Mary wrapped in a warm blanket, in turn being fussed over by Clint and Thor.

"You sure this'll work?" Tony asked her.

"If I can salvage your company, I can salvage their feelings and turn it into a relationship. Besides, what you're all forgetting is that they don't have to confess their undying love _now_ , they just have to realise that they love each other. It'll fall into place sooner than you all expect if you let that happen." Pepper explained, sitting on a camp chair beside her husband, taking a deep-fried kale chip. "See, you and Emma forget that this isn't one of your stupid fanfictions. You've got real emotions you're playing with and she's probably the first to tell you that they're the most complex things ever. Look at the way he glances at her, sure it's the stereotypical glancing across the room at your crush when you don't think they're looking; but look at his face and tell me that for the first time in seventy years, he feels like he has part of himself again. He has cause."

"Like Bruce," Tony finally understood with a small sigh.

"You weren't afraid to act like he was normal. Condition or not. It's why you're best friends now. She doesn't tip-toe around him and on the flipside; he realises she's more fragile than she acts. They know what they need, they need comfort and reassurance; the only thing they have to realise is that it's in each other." Pepper finished, raising a brow now that Mary stood on trembling legs, slipping into a pair of Louboutins, Thor holding her hand for support as she threw back her shoulders, brushed back an errant strand of hair from the soft 60's style bouffant.

Pepper knew that Peter would be taking photos of her anyway, how could anyone resist with the smouldering glare she threw from under immaculately applied winged liner, gently smoked with a soft black. She was above all an actor. They knew that, who else would they have trusted with Beatrice from _Much Ado_? But it unnerved Pepper a little, it was something she had never really seen, having never been on a field mission.

But she now stood before Bucky on the low armchair, reduced to herself again with a single reassuring smile, feeling equally as awkward as she.

"Um, okay. Agent Reyes, could you perch on the arm-rest? Yeah, like that. Mr Barnes, could you turn and face her so she could grab your tie? No… pull upwards a little, yes." Peter immediately began his task at hand, directing for Mary to cross her legs at the right angle, "Move a little closer to her, great."

"It still doesn't feel right," Tony commented in all honesty "I mean, Pep, you're directive was smoulderingly sexy. And this is hot, don't get me wrong Gramps, but we need melt your panties in t-minus three seconds hot."

"Well… I got an idea…" Mary admitted in some shame, "But it's for charity and if I obscure my face enough with the hair, which isn't too much of a problem…"

"I have a terrible sense of where this is going, but I feel like it's our only option…" Bucky agreed. Mary lightly leaped off the armrest, patiently waiting for Bucky to remove not only his tie, but his white button-up shirt.

"See what I mean? It all falls into place," Pepper grinned wickedly as Mary grabbed the shirt, brushing off Emma and picking up things that looked suspiciously like a garter-belt and thigh-highs. "Wait, wasn't there something about thigh-highs and garters?"

"Mission report. She had him feel her up for the sake of a trivia contest. It's a bit over-the-top but I've learned never to get in the way of an Australian and their sense of competition." Tony answered quickly before choking on his coffee to see the Australian in question breeze out from behind the changing screen in sheer-black lingerie, thigh-highs and the garters, slinging the shirt about her shoulders and leaving the top few buttons undone, falling off her shoulders. "Well, if you wanna give a ninety-six year old guy a heart attack, that's one way to do it."

"Right, Agent Reyes, Mr Barnes explained the idea to me. You're gonna have to get uncomfortably close for this," Pepper raised a brow at Peter turning red despite the fact he seemed totally at ease with all eleven previous shoots. She made a mental note to check with Jarvis later.

" _Oh_. My. God." Pepper breathed, watching as the young woman straddled Barnes' legs, who sat at a slight angle, back against the corner of the chair, metal arm at the front-most side facing the camera and fingers spanned almost possessively along the expanse of her waist. She was certain that it was his flesh hand, just obscured from her view, trailing fingers along the underside of her somewhat exposed ass cheeks. Her arms in turn looped about his shoulders and neck, fingers finding their way into his long strands. The very _idea_ of Barnes' breath against the lace of her bra as Peter adjusted the shirt falling off her shoulder and Clint tousled the strands falling and mostly masking her face was enough to make Pepper start to palpitate a little. _She was married!_

 _She was married, that didn't mean she couldn't look at the menu_. She corrected.

" _Damn_ , that's hot." Emma whispered, barely above the droning music playing in the background as Peter snapped his photos for the calendar. She wasn't even sure what would cause Reyes to melt more, the fact he was staring intently at the curve of her breast. Or the fact that with his lips nearly pressed against her breast through the lace, his blue eyes flickered up to meet her gaze, clearly communicating to all in the room what he was thinking.

Pepper was now certain of three things:

1) Sex was imminent. Give it a couple of weeks.

2) If this was the spread for March, there was no way anyone was going to make it to April, let alone July.

3) Those needy charities were going to have more than anticipated donated to their respective causes.


	5. Act 5

A/N: Rating warning for some M content.

* * *

Act 5- In Which Sam Wilson never forgave and never forgot

"You seem to be forgetting on _key_ thing," Bruce straightened his glasses, folding his arms and clearing his throat pointedly; glaring at Tony. Tony scoffed and shook his head, as if the Ball weren't enough. But he kicked back on his swivelly chair, propping his feet up on Emma's precariously cleaned glass conference table nonetheless.

"Brucie, she's literally the only person here who thinks Stevie and Bucky-boy are a thing-" Tony pointed out before faltering.

" _What_?" Steve spat out his coffee, Natasha may have sunk a little in her seat… Sam too actually, Emma looked away uneasily and Clint began to close tabs on his pad's screen. Tony may have stood corrected.

"It's been a thing since 1943, Cap." Clint managed to get out, "It's called Stucky and it's a lifestyle."

"Look, say what you want, but I'm still shipping Stony," Emma interjected before pointedly looking at the floor.

"You just _enjoy_ the painful ships, don't you?" Loki asked his wife, who nodded with a sheepish smile, Loki shook his head with fondness. "All the angst and angry porn and-"

"Look, until we catch them _at_ it, be it innocent or one-hundred percent sin, we don't have proof-"

"Actually," Steve cleared his throat and Tony visibly lit up, he was going to do it, he was going to prove Bruce wrong, his OTP was going to beat his. Tony nodded at the senior citizen and gestured for him to make his way to the lectern and replace the Powerpoint and drop their metaphorical atomic bombshell.

"Alright, you all want definitive proof that James Buchanan Barnes is _not_ the smooth operator he has convinced the world for the last seventy years?" Steve folded his arms and Tony instantly recognised the look of holding all the best blackmail against a friend. He may as well have gotten the popcorn- never mind, Thor had it, Steve could continue.

"Sam-" Steve stopped mid-sentence, turning to the nonchalant man sitting to Thor's left.

"Yes Cap?" Sam pulled out a sealed box labelled 'photographs' and a small micro-chip that all recognised to be as a bug.

"Would you like to divulge your intel? To prove to the world that Thor's regency party only resulted in corset-fuelled fantasies?"

"Cap? I can go one better." Sam smirked. Emma raised a brow, having never heard of this tale before. Tony grinned, already anticipating the story as Wanda figured it out through some form of cheating.

"No!" Wanda laughed, clamping a hand with black-painted nails over her mouth.

"Yes." Sam confirmed, "car sex."

* * *

"You know, I think I like your hair longer, it's nice." Mary admitted to her partner, hand idly brushing the grown-out strands. _Fucking typical_ , of course they got stranded practically in the middle of nowhere, and _of fucking course_ it was a black-tie event. It felt isolated and alone, somewhere atop a lonely hill, overlooking whatever city it was they were in, at this point she stopped caring.

"Can you turn that song off now?" Bucky shrugged off his jacket and began to roll up his sleeves. With a little grimace he began to climb between the two front seats and joined her in the cramped back seat of the little Volkswagen Beetle. Why was it always Volkswagen cars with him? First the Kombi, now this?

"No, it's my Eurovision husband, Alexander Rybak-"

"Doll, there's only so much singing about Cupid's Arrow that I can take-"

"Just because your love life is stagnant-" She retorted, pulling out hairpins from her pretentiously dishevelled hairstyle, allowing the waist-length mass to fall down and around her, warming her more than the bitterly cold breeze seeping its' way through the car's doors. She mumbled under her breath, changing songs to _Miracle Aligner_ , sadly having to say goodbye to Alexander Rybak's ridiculously photogenic face.

"And yours _isn't_?" Bucky threw back. Mary paused for a second, closing her lipsticked mouth and shrugging her shoulders in agreement. "Besides, since when did you understand Russian?" She hinted a sense of panic. Perhaps he finally realised she actually _understood_ everything he mumbled about under his breath.

"Remember how I couldn't decide what to take at Uni, so I went 'fuck it' and studied both History and Science? Besides I only understand like every second word." Mary raised her brow, kicking off her high heels and un-zipping herself from the dress. Honestly, she was starting to feel a little suffocated and as gorgeous as the dress was, there were going to be boning imprints left in her side.

"H-Hey is that really _necessary_?"

"Is your face necessary?" She bit back, folding her arms with a bit of a humph. Honestly, could she not do as she wanted? "Besides, you saw me in less clothing when we were in that camper,"

"Yeah, doesn't mean I enjoyed it shorty," He fired back, folding his arms and staring directly ahead.

"Fair enough," Mary muttered a little, resigned to the fact that everyone on the planet seemed to know, and she continued to blissfully deny in vain hope.

"Fair enough, what?"

"Never mind-"

"Doll, I swear I'm gonna kick you out of this damn car,"

"You won't, liar. It's ungentlemanly."

"Doll,"

"Fine," Mary huffed, "I mean fair enough, considering you're pretty gay for Captain America-"

"I am _not_ gay for Captain America-" Bucky interjected somewhat angrily. Though she could sense a wild notion of confused panic. "I'm not, am I? Wait… do your senses tell you that I'm…"

"Wait, what?" Mary stopped for a moment, confused and lost. "What do you mean you and Captain Rogers haven't been an item since 1932-"

"I've been trying to get the guy a date _since_ 1932, irrespective of gender! Yeah alright, so he got attractive after getting put into Stark's beefcake machine, but I thought we established that if you weren't attracted to some extent to Steven Rogers, you were dead." Bucky clarified "Though that being said, I was surprised he and Stark weren't a romantic fling-" Bucky added with a bit of a grimace, considering what back-flips Howard Stark would be doing in his grave.

"Eh, I'm still not sure about that one either, I think we've all just accepted that Captain Rogers and Tony are kinda married and there's nothing we can really do about it. I mean he had to kiss Tony on a mission once and I'm pretty sure that video's still circulating in what's left of SHIELD." Mary began to shiver slightly, Bucky chucked his suit jacket at her with a vague glare of annoyance.

"Don't just keep talking, put the damn jacket on-"

"Language." Mary muttered under her breath, putting the jacket on aggressively and sliding a little in her seat. "Happy?"

"Better, your fault for taking the dress off anyway-."

"Aaaanyway, back to kissing Steven Rogers, I'm 99% sure if we set up a kissing booth with him in it, we could get enough money to solve world poverty." Mary finished her statement, snickering along with Bucky before raising a brow and deciding on exactly how to make the situation ten times worse "Of course, if we put you in it, we could get double that in less time," She was right and he choked on his own spit in an entirely un-sexy manner.

"Has anyone told you that you're an incorrigible flirt?" Bucky asked her in all seriousness, she pondered the question at hand before deciding to fuck that and say whatever came to mind.

"Well, it's just that people don't expect me to flirt back, it's a bit of a shock to people." Mary answered truthfully "That one time, Peter Parker was flirting with me and showing off his spidey skills and stuff-"

"And what did you do to traumatise him?" He referenced her vague ability to do so.

"Well, I told him that I'm sure given ten minutes in a closet we could come up with some naughtier uses for his high-tensile webbing." Mary shrugged, surprised she'd even come up with something like that. "Mr Stark dropped his mug, Bruce high-fived me and Peter almost passed out. Honestly the greatest achievement ever,"

"Coming from the person who put down that they like to think about genetically engineered super soldiers during sex?" Bucky brought up that one round of Cards against Humanity, and Mary groaned in utter embarrassment. He seemed to be smirking at her, arm resting against the back of the seat and hair perfectly in place. She was going to have to do something about that. Oh, he was going to be playing _that_ game? Did he _not_ learn from last time? Honestly, it was like he decided to delete every compromising situation they'd somehow gotten themselves in. But it felt different to her this time, his emotions felt so much more on edge, so much more dangerous rather than the softness and teasing of his usual games.

"Why wouldn't I?" She decided to test it out, lowering her voice to a smoother and huskier tone, eyes peeping behind fluttering lashes, blood-red lipstick pulled into a smirk that could rival his. She moved her elbow to join his on the back of the seat, tilting her head to rest upon her hand, knowing that the shoulder of his jacket would start to slide from her shoulder. She relished in the electric atmosphere setting her hairs on ends, the fog of the windows as the night began to set in and the semi-darkness of the beetle interior lit only by slivers of moonlight.

"Ya know doll, you should move closer, it's getting a bit cold don't you think?" She weighed up her options and hating the fact she was getting _incredibly_ turned on. Damn the sexy bastard. In a single motion she pushed him back into his end of the car, straddling his lap, letting the jacket fall to the floor. Her nose was inches from his, their lips practically touching. If this was going to be a re-hash of the antique store kiss, she was _so_ down for this.

"Is this close enough for you?" She raised a brow, internally cursing him as his cool, metal hand began to trace her sides, contrasting with the warmth of her exposed waist. In retaliation she gently lifted the hand to the inner of her upper thigh and slowly moving it outwards, his breath stilling the moment he felt the elastic of the garters holding up her thigh highs. She watched his Adam's apple bob in his neck, eyes deciding to meet hers and she observed the minute details of his pale-blue eyes.

He gazed at her for a second, and that foreboding feeling her senses were giving her basically told her all she needed to know. Her mind quickly connected dots; he was trained in observation and manipulation, he was formerly a spy, he could take two minutes and know _exactly_ how to play her body like a musical instrument, and she was going to be begging and begging and begging for him more.

That being said, if his mind was connecting the exact same dots as hers, and with the distinct advantage of knowing _exactly_ how she made him feel by being this close, he must've known she was going to ride the living shit out of him and he knew whatever he felt, she would feel ten-fold. Placing a delicate finger on his lips, she skipped songs on her phone, finding _Do I Wanna Know_ , she tossed it aside and decided to slowly grind her hips against his, listening to the satisfied groan as he pulled her lips to his and the hardening in his pants against her increasingly warm inner thighs.

"You sure you wanna do this doll? You're not getting out easy after that little show," He managed to get out as he began to drag his kisses down her jaw, she inhaled sharply as she felt the pleasurable burn of his stubble and his metal hand beginning to slide down the delicate lace of her black bra. She decided the best course of action would be to begin to unbutton his shirt, pulling it off with haste and snapping off a few buttons, she entangled her fingers into his ridiculously well-coiffed hair, feeling the lustrous brunet strands between her fingers, tugging as his kisses intensified, her teeth biting down on his lower lip. "Several rounds, at the very least, if I'm going to punish you properly."

"Barnes, shut the fuck up and just keep going." She pulled away slightly, raising her eyebrow as he gave her a wolfish grin. "I hope you didn't put too much effort into your hair, it might not be as neat when I'm done," He laughed slightly, lifting her from his lap and laying her down the cramped car seat, mumbling angrily in Russian about the lack of space, her fingers running across the taught muscles of his back, her nose filling with the decadent scent of their mingled perfume, aftershave and slight perspiration.

"I hope you're not attached to the eye candy, Masha," He snapped the waist of her panties teasingly "They might not be intact when I'm done," It was honestly fine, she was about to lose her virginity in the back of a Beetle with the sexiest goddamned man to have ever graced the planet, _and_ he had a metal arm that (she wasn't about to lie to herself) held incredible possibilities, as you do. Bucky pulled her left leg upwards, trailing fingers up her thighs to the tops of her stockings he pulled at the edges, his lips pressing warm kisses to her inner thigh as he pulled the stocking down her leg in an agonisingly slow manner.

"W-What if Steve or... s-something find us?" She breathed, her mind refusing to focus on anything but the pleasure as he began to do the same with the other leg, his free hand kneading infuriating circles on her ass as her knuckles turned white, gripping the edge of the seat.

"If you're thinking of other men when we're fucking, then I haven't done my job properly," She whimpered as metals fingers brushed her sensitive clit through the dampened lace, her legs quivered as pleasure shot down her spine letting the pooling heat gather between her legs. Quicker than she could have anticipated his warm weight was firmly above hers, clearly feeling his arousal against her own, she felt his mouth make contact with her nipple- left or right her mind was a haze of pleasure and she couldn't care- his hot tongue dragging teasing circles around it, suckling as his metal fingers rubbed at her throbbing clit through the panties, wishing he's just do away with them and fuck her brains out already.

"Y'know, I've been imagining this sorta thing over and over and over," He moaned against her neck, causing her to arch against the seat. Bucky now slid the panties from her hips, tossing them carelessly beneath the seat and intensifying his teasing, adding pressure as her whimpers increased slightly in volume, her breaths shorter- more needy. "Ever since the gym, the camper, that calendar. I'd have fucked you on that seat in front of Stark if you went any further."

"And what if I wanted you to?" she challenged boldly, digging her heel into the small of his back, daring him to go further. His fingers were replaced with the warm roughness of his boxers, rubbing at the slickness between her legs. She took the deep groan as an answer.

She could imagine a metal finger slowly slide up and teasing her beyond all belief or his witty tongue moving from her nipple down to her sensitive bud or better yet- Bucky rolling his hips, hypnotic and obscene, against hers as she met him. She turned her head to his ear, nibbling on it as he lavished her neck with hickeys that would remain in the morning, desperate to keep in an embarrassingly loud moan she'd just released at the image and her increasing wetness, the throbbing only increasing and desperate for release.

"I don't think so, I want to hear every fucking sound, doll." Bucky mumbled in a delirious haze as her legs wrapped tighter around him.

Is that what he wanted? Well, in her opinion he wasn't getting out that easily. Her nails made deep indents in the soft flesh of his toned back as her other hand made its way down his side and into the waistband of his taught boxers, just brushing the length of his hardened cock. Her fingers circled the tip as he faltered, a breath stilled in his throat- releasing a string of Russian swears, cursing her, cursing himself and their lack of space.

"Fuck _,"_ His eyes, dark with a desire that only served to make her want him more met her own. And she enjoyed it, the power she held over him, knowing he was eager to please, to tease as her. "Котик, keep touching me like that and this'll be over faster than we'd like-" His hands pulled hers above her head, holding them firmly in place as he positioned. "Not like it wasn't going to be rough and hard before,"

"Котик?" Bucky practically collapsed on her in shock as Sam (or at least she figured from the awkward angle she was at and the bright flashlight he was shining at them) laughed his head off and pulled the door open, Steve holding his phone aloft with a cheery wave. "Wow, who knew you were such a smooth operator?" Forget losing her virginity, Mary was actually just going to die here, Emma or someone was going to have to tell her parents that their daughter died due to absolute embarrassment of being caught naked in a car with an ex-assassin. This was exponentially worse than envisioning herself dying alone and covered in cat piss.

"Arctic Monkeys, nice choice. Yeah, I can hear Sade in the background, maybe some Careless Whisper-" Steve interjected with a snigger. Honestly, Mary was just more impressed he knew who George Michael was.

"No man, Marvin Gaye-" Sam laughed before grimacing and tossing a bag of clothes they'd brought at her.

"Oh _god_ no," Steve wheezed, laughing and grabbing Sam's left boob. She turned to Bucky, stroking his vaguely mortified face in apology, covering her bare chest as best as she could (well, it wasn't that hard considering there wasn't much there, but dear _god_ when his lips where there it felt like more…).

"It's alright doll," He helped her up, handing her the fallen coat and pulling her into a tight hug but not before whispering into her ear. "Something tells me you'll be calling in sick in bed tomorrow, something about not being able to walk."

* * *

"So yeah, her hand was down his pants, Tony found the panties underneath the car seat when he had to clean it up none of you noticed the grand total of four hickeys he had on his neck the day after because Agent Reyes hoards make up like Smaug hoards dwarvish gold." Sam concluded. "At one point someone probably said ' _Take a picture, it'll last longer.'_ Because there is a box filled with seedy polaroids under Barnes' bed. There was also a bathtub involved somewhere."

"I'm betting Reyes," Tony raised a hand, mind processing the elaborate detail Sam had described before realising one vital flaw "Wait, this sounds like a fanfiction, what evidence have we got on the car sex?"

"We learned the hard way that we probably shouldn't bug their car." Steve admitted, turning red in the face "He could've put a fucking _tie_ on the door like that one time- But no, _no_ , he just _can't_ keep it in his pants until he gets home and he just _had_ to use the tie as-"

"Okay, yeah, car sex is great and all, steamy, true fanfiction stuff-" Bruce interjected, adjusting his sunglasses on the top of his head. "But what about the all important confession?"

"Stark, the phone." Emma commanded in her oh-so-terrifying 'queen voice'.

"Who we dialling up?" Tony questioned as he slid over the com.

"Professor Charles Xavier."

* * *

 ** _Receipt 7: Could someone explain the Cherik shipvid in the middle of Apocalypse?_**

"Memories are inextricably linked to emotions, we choose to remember memories because they benefit us in an evolutionary manner or because they define who we are and who we become." Professor Xavier started, taking a small sip of tea, pouring a little milk into Magneto's pale pink tea cup. Mary stared around her increasingly-familiar surroundings, the warmth of the wooden panels and the golden sunlight gently filtering through crystalline window-panes.

"Yeah, that's great and all, but why exactly are we all dressed like its' 1974?" Mary raised her hand, jiggling her ankle a little and observing the sheen of her thigh-high boots. Dr Banner threw a selection of his 1970s' paisley shirts at her and told her to pick one she fancied (he also told her to tie it at her waist like his momma, because Momma Banner was 100% fashion goddess) and Emma dumped several hat-boxes at her for a choice of floppy hat. So really, the only thing that shocked Bucky that morning was the fact she owned a pair of high-waisted leather shorts in dark brown. Did she mention they were pretty high cut? Because the shorts and the boots made her legs look like they went on longer than the wall Donald "I'm the best 140 character writer in the world" Trump wanted to build to keep Mexicans out.

Yeah, she sensed the confusion over the waist-to-hip ratio and the feels he was getting from the high-waisted, high-cut shorts.

"Oh well, we thought that it would allow everyone to understand the difficulties of the 1970s and the struggles-" Magento started off-handedly.

"Of ridiculously high heels? For all genders? The only foreseeable problem is that I no longer have to bring tall friends grocery shopping with me."

"Also it's actually our theme for Hank's surprise birthday party." Xavier admitted. Mary bit back an ugly snort at the rush of fondness both the Professor and Magneto felt. "Though you should be glad it isn't actually 1973, flirty teenage Peter Maximoff is something you didn't want to have to deal with-"

"Professor Maximoff was a flirt? Well, it's worse than the time we all did _Hairspray_ and Scott was Corny Collins…" Mary questioned, sitting down on the seat beside Bucky as Magneto had indicated. Well, by indicated, he basically slid the entire sofa forward to make her fall into a heap upon Bucky's lap, before sliding it back.

"Ooh, the very worst. You'd have been just his type, with your taste in humour, music and fashion." Xavier laughed, before taking a look at his best-mate-husband-enemy and adding "Just like his dad."

"Alright, you can shut up with your incessant mutterings, old friend." Magneto shook his head before clearing his throat "No, what we're here to achieve is if we could possibly reverse the effects of let's say, Charles' mind wipe or as Hydra had planned, what should've been your brainwashing." She turned to Bucky, clearly getting a sense of jealousy, not entirely sure why though. But she did as she was bid anyway, kneeling upon the floor before him and placing fingers at familiar points by his temple.

It was a blinding light really, her mind throwing her back into Bucky's memories, landing back in a familiar corner.

She knew those books, that unnameable scent of musty, damp but of the pleasant kind. It was back in Blackheath, that antique store that held so many bad memories for her. Yet she was watching Barnes cradle her, the Maximoffs, Sam and Maria Hill surrounding them in frozen shock.

 _"Hey, c'mon doll, don't do this to us- to me. Not me, not me, please." Bucky couldn't give less of a fuck right now about the other people in the room, whether or not Wanda was holding back her brother from interfering, or the fact Sam Wilson had their guy in a very tight choke-hold the moment he regained consciousness. "You're stronger than this, I've seen you take out guys twice your size, you wonderfully petite person. I'll admit it, if you wake up, I'll admit it. I'll admit that I love you. I'll even sit through Pride and Prejudice with you, that's your favourite, isn't it?"_

 _"Barnes-"_

 _"Not now, Hill." Bucky supported her back with his bent leg, holding her closer to his chest, leaning back against the bookshelf, cursing at how uncomfortable it was. "Mia, it's not your fault, none of it was ever your fault. If you don't come back, I'm never going to forgive myself, because I was too caught up in it all to see it was a trap-"_

 _"Barnes-"_

 _"Hill, please, just let me try. Let me prove that I'm not a monster, just once." Maria Hill's face crumbled, turning away before kneeling beside him, Wanda and Pietro joining._

Mary watched Bucky's memory, utterly shocked at what she was seeing. No, _love_ , this wasn't what she'd anticipated-

 _"I'll admit it. I'll admit that I love you."_ Echoed in her ears in his desperate, pleading tone.

Why? She didn't deserve this, she didn't deserve any of this, boys used to ask her out as a joke.

He'd admit that he loved her. Why didn't he? Surely he was just bargaining. That must be it, he was just bargaining with someone to let her live-

 _Lying._ Her mind added.

 _Oh god_.

It pained her to exit his mind, screaming as she dropped to the sun-lit wooden floor, the window muntin casting dark shadows over her face.

She could not pin down the emotion that Professor Xavier felt, nor that of Magneto as they watched her in speechless shock upon the floor. It was something closer to sad pity, the kind she hated. She must've been a terrible sight, a mess of styled hair and chic leather and suede.

But she tore her pained eyes away from the professors, instead choosing to focus on a similarly shocked Bucky, his mouth trembling, failing to close as his metal arm reached out for hers.

"Why?" Was the only word that came to her lips, sentences, paragraphs, essays and thesis statements behind the single syllable. She knelt in front of him as he sat on the floor, fallen off his chair in the sheer agony of the process.

"Doll, do you really need to ask?" Bucky replied back, equally as quietly. His forehead was now resting against hers, feeling both flesh and metal hand cradle her face. "I should be asking why me?"

"Why not you?"

"Besides, you got any idea how hard it is to mope about the tower with actual mum friend!Steve Rogers hovering about your doorstep? It's terrifying," She admitted as they both laughed.

* * *

 ** _The Present Day_**

"Okaaaaaay," Bruce answered slightly uneasily before shaking his head, a little confused. "You do realise that in light of all this, that means they're probably having sex right now…"

"Yeah, we figured," Emma answered with a quick look to Steve and Sam to confirm.

"…In your corridors, on _your walls_ …" Bruce pointed out to Tony. Tony froze a little, imaging his _walls_ being damaged- _damnit._

"JARVIS, do me a favour and set the sprinklers on them." Tony ordered as Bruce buried his face in his hands and Clint slid over a fifty-dollar note, having lost their bet.

* * *

 _"SHIT_!" Mary slid down the wall he had pushed her against, she screamed a little in anger and if he was being honest with himself it was _really_ hot. Bucky was tempted to punch a hole in Tony's wall right now as the building's sprinklers were set off, he helped her gather her discarded crop-top and the offending pale-green lace bra (and the panties, but he doubted she'd be wearing them again considering the state they were in). The experience was great, watching her being driven insane as she released her breathy moans, begging for more, but of _course_ Stark had to ruin it. Every fucking time there was a Stark somewhere in the world, ready to make sure he doesn't get off.

"REYES, IF YOU'RE GOING TO RIDE BARNES' FACE LIKE HE RIDES A FUCKING MOTORBIKE, GET YOURSELVES A ROOM!" Tony blared over the PA system. "YOU CAN'T JUST DESECRATE THIS HOLY PLACE WITH YOUR ANIMALISTIC URGES."

Bucky recognised Steve's ridiculous laugh in the background, envisioning the left boob grab.

He was actually going to kill him.

* * *

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed that and please tell me what you think :))) I really do love hearing back from you all


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